I Repeat, Whether We Be Italians Or

Dear God! How Beauty Varies In Nature And Art.

Nothing Is More True, More Real, Than The Primeval Magnetic Disturbances That Two Souls May Communicate To One Another, Through The Tiny Sparks Of A Moment's Glance.

The Saints Were His Friends, And Blessed Him; The Monsters Were His Friends, And Guarded Him.

Taste Is The Common Sense Of Genius.

Not Ill? No Truly, I Am Young, Healthful, And Strong; The Blood Flows Freely In My Veins; My Limbs Obey My Will; I Am Robust In Mind And Body, Constituted For A Long Life. Yes, All This Is True; And Yet, Nevertheless, I Have An Illness, A Fatal Illness,-an Illness Given By The Hand Of Man!