Music's Golden Tongue Flatter'd To Tears This

Who Hath Not Seen Thee Oft Amid Thy Store? Sometimes Whoever Seeks Abroad May Find Thee Sitting Careless On A Granary Floor, Thy Hair Soft-lifted By The Winnowing Wind; Or On A Half-reap'd Furrow Sound Asleep, Drows'd With The Fume Of Poppies, While Thy Hook Spares The Next Swath And All Its Twined Flowers.

Neither Poetry, Nor Ambition, Nor Love Have Any Alertness Of Countenance As They Pass By Me.

You Have Absorb'd Me. I Have A Sensation At The Present Moment As Though I Was Dissolving.

Failure Is, In A Sense, The Highway To Success.

A Quote About Drinking Is A Joy Forever