Kill A Man's Family, And He May

If I Don't Write To Empty My Mind, I Go Mad. As To That Regular, Uninterrupted Love Of Writing. I Do Not Understand It. I Feel It As A Torture, Which I Must Get Rid Of, But Never As A Pleasure. On The Contrary, I Think Composition A Great Pain.

Sleep Hath Its Own World, And The Wide Realm Of Wild Reality.

Where There Is Mystery, It Is Generally Suspected There Must Also Be Evil.

Bologna Is Celebrated For Producing Popes, Painters, And Sausage.

Pure Friendship's Well-feigned Blush.