If Dirt Were Trumps, What Hands You

Friend Of My Bosom, Thou More Than A Brother, Why Wert Thou Not Born In My Father's Dwelling?

I Have Sat Through An Italian Opera, Til, For Sheer Pain, And Inexplicable Anguish, I Have Rushed Out Into The Noisiest Places Of The Crowded Street, To Solace Myself With Sounds Which I Was Not Obliged To Follow And Get Rid Of The Distracting Torment Of Endless, Fruitless, Barren Attention!

I Have Something More To Do Than To Feel.

Asparagus Inspires Gentle Thoughts.

Separate From The Pleasure Of Your Company, I Don't Much Care If I Never See Another Mountain In My Life.