It Is No Great Misfortune To Oblige

I Run The Gauntlet Of A File Of Doubts, Each One Of Which Down Hurls Me To The Ground.

One Thought Settles A Life, An Immortality.

I Am Tired Of Looking On What Is, One Might As Well See Beauty Never More, As Look Upon It With An Empty Eye. I Would This World Were Over. I Am Tired.

The Dew, 'tis Of The Tears Which Stars Weep, Sweet With Joy.

The First And Worst Of All Frauds Is To Cheat One's Self.