I Ought To Be Thy Adam, But

Her Countenance Was All Expression; Her Eyes Were Not Dark But Impenetrably Deep; You Seemed To Discover Space After Space In Their Intellectual Glance.

For A Moment My Soul Was Elevated From Its Debasing And Miserable Fears To Which These Sights Were The Monuments And The Remembrances. For An Instant I Dared To Shake Off My Chains, And Look Around Me With A Free And Lofty Spirit; But The Iron Had Eaten Into My Flesh, And I Sank Again, Trembling And Hopeless, Into My Miserable Self.

But He Found That A Traveller's Life Is One That Includes Much Pain Amidst Its Enjoyments. His Feelings Are For Ever On The Stretch; And When He Begins To Sink Into Repose, He Finds Himself Obliged To Quit That On Which He Rests In Pleasure For Something New, Which Again Engages His Attention, And Which Also He Forsakes For Other Novelties.

Nothing Is More Painful To The Human Mind Than, After The Feelings Have Been Worked Up By A Quick Succession Of Events, The Dead Calmness Of Inaction And Certainty Which Follows And Deprives The Soul Both Of Hope And Fear.

Life Is Obstinate And Clings Closest Where It Is Most Hated.