My Love Had Grown One With My

I Am Like A Mariner Born And Bred On Board A Buccaneer Brig Whose Soul Has Become So Inured To Storm And Strife That If Cast Ashore He Would Weary And Languish No Matter How Alluring The Shady Groves And How Bright The Gentle Sun.

I Have A Congenital Desire To Contradict; My Whole Life Is Merely A Chain Of Sad And Unsuccessful Contradictions To Heart And Mind. When Faced With Enthusiasm, I Am Seized By A Midwinter Freeze, And I Suppose That Frequent Dealings With Sluggish Phlegmatics Would Have Made A Passionate Dreamer.

No Good Ever Becomes Of A Man Who Forgets An Old Friend

The History Of A Man's Soul, Even The Pettiest Soul, Is Hardly Less Interesting And Useful Than The History Of A Whole People; Especially When The Former Is The Result Of The Observations Of A Mature Mind Upon Itself, And Has Been Written Without Any Egotistical Desire Of Arousing Sympathy Or Astonishment. Rousseau's Confessions Has Precisely This Defect – He Read It To His Friends.

O Vanity! You Are The Lever By Means Of Which Archimedes Wished To Lift The Earth!