Not If I Know Myself At All.

There Is A Pleasure In Affecting Affectation.

Were I Diogenes, I Would Not Move Out Of A Kilderkin Into A Hogshead, Though The First Had Had Nothing But Small Beer In It, And The Second Reeked Claret.

Oft In The Stilly Night, Ere Slumber's Chain Has Bound Me, Fond Memory Brings The Light Of Other Days Around Me; The Smiles, The Tears, Of Boyhood's Years, The Words Of Love Then Spoken; The Eyes That Shone Now Dimmed And Gone, The Cheerful Hearts Now Broken.

I Counsel Thee, Shut Not Thy Heart, Nor Thy Library.

There Are Like To Be Short Graces Where The Devil Plays Host.