Memory Is The Primary And Fundamental Power,

Wheresoe'er I Turn My View, All Is Strange, Yet Nothing New: Endless Labor All Along, Endless Labor To Be Wrong: Phrase That Time Has Flung Away; Uncouth Words In Disarray, Trick'd In Antique Ruff And Bonnet, Ode, And Elegy, And Sonnet.

It Is A Maxim That No Man Was Ever Enslaved By Influence While He Was Fit To Be Free.

The Hapless Wit Has His Labors Always To Begin, The Call For Novelty Is Never Satisfied, And One Jest Only Raises Expectation Of Another.

The Imaginations Excited By The View Of An Unknown And Untravelled Wilderness Are Not Such As Arise In The Artificial Solitude Of Parks And Gardens... The Phantoms Which Haunt A Desert Are Want, And Misery, And Danger; The Evils Of Dereliction Rush Upon The Thoughts; Man Is Made Unwillingly Acquainted With His Own Weakness, And Meditation Shows Him Only How Little He Can Sustain, And How Little He Can Perform.

It Matters Not How A Man Dies, But How He Lives. The Act Of Dying Is Not Of Importance, It Lasts So Short A Time.