Of Religion I Know Nothing -- At

None Are So Desolate But Something Dear, Dearer Than Self, Possesses Or Possess'd A Thought, And Claims The Homage Of A Tear.

Age Shakes Athena's Tower, But Spares Gray Marathon.

I Stood In Venice, On The Bridge Of Sighs; A Palace And A Prison On Each Hand; I Saw From Out The Wave Of Her Structure's Rise As From The Stroke Of The Enchanter's Wand: A Thousand Years Their Cloudy Wings Expand Around Me, And A Dying Glory Smiles O'er The Far Times, When Many A Subject Land Look'd To The Winged Lion's Marble Pines, Where Venice Sate In State, Throned On Her Hundred Isles.

The Very Best Of Vineyards Is The Cellar

There's Not A Joy The World Can Give Like That It Takes Away.