If Life Had A Second Edition, How

Language Has Not The Power To Speak What Love Indites: The Soul Lies Buried In The Ink That Writes.

I Never Saw So Sweet A Face. As That I Stood Before. My Heart Has Left It Dwelling Place ... And Can Return No More.

The Present Is The Funeral Of The Past, And Man The Living Sepulchre Of Life.

I Long For Scenes Where Man Has Never Trod;... There To Abide With My Creator, God.

Still, I Have Been No One's Enemy But My Own. My Easy Nature, Either In Drinking Or Anything Else, Was Always Ready To Submit To Persuasions Of Profligate Companions, Who Often Led Me Into Snares.