Glory Is A Poison, Good To Be

Those Sweetly Smiling Angels With Pensive Looks, Innocent Faces, And Cash-boxes For Hearts.

There Are As Many Mediocrities Exalted Through Pity As Masters Decried Through Envy.

My Writing Table Has Seen All My Wretchedness, Knows All My Plans, Has Overheard All My Thoughts.

Love Passes Quickly, And Passes Like A Street Arab, Anxious To Mark His Way With Mischief.

Perhaps It Is Only Human Nature To Inflict Suffering On Anything That Will Endure Suffering, Whether By Reason Of Its Genuine Humility, Or Indifference, Or Sheer Helplessness.