I Have An Appetite For Silence.

Luck Is Not Chance, It's Toil; Fortune's Expensive Smile Is Earned.

Nature, Like Us Is Sometimes Caught Without Her Diadem.

A Precious, Mouldering Pleasure 't Is To Meet An Antique Book In Just The Dress His Century Wore; A Privilege, I Think, His Venerable Hand To Take, And Warming In Our Own, A Passage Back, Or Two, To Make To Times When He Was Young. His Quaint Opinions To Inspect, His Knowledge To Unfold On What Concerns Our Mutual Mind, The Literature Of Old.

Other Courtesies Have Been - Other Courtesy May Be - We Commend Ourselves To Thee Paragon Of Chivalry.

Does Not Eternity Appear Dreadful To You. I Often Get To Thinking Of It And It Seems So Dark To Me That I Almost Wish There Was No Eternity. To Think That We Must Forever Live And Never Cease To Be. It Seems As If Death Would Be A Relief To So Endless A State Of Existence.