Fun I Love, But Too Much Fun

Love's Secret Never Seek To Tell Thy Love, Love That Never Told Can Be; For The Gentle Wind Doth Move Silently, Invisibly. I Told My Love, I Told My Love, I Told Her All My Heart, Trembling, Cold, In Ghastly Fears. Ah! She Did Depart! Soon After She Was Gone From Me, A Traveller Came By, Silently, Invisibly: He Took Her With A Sigh.

Acts Themselves Alone Are History, And These Are Neither The Exclusive Property Of Hume, Gibbon Nor Voltaire, Echard, Rapin, Plutarch, Nor Herodotus. Tell Me The Acts, O Historian, And Leave Me To Reason Upon Them As I Please; Away With Your Reasoning And Your Rubbish. All That Is Not Action Is Not Worth Reading.

I Am Under The Direction Of Messengers From Heaven Daily And Nightly.

Work Up Imagination To The State Of Vision.

My Mother Groaned, My Father Wept, Into The Dangerous World I Leapt.