Oh, I'm Burning! I Wish I Were

He... Was Attached By Ties Stronger Than Reason Could Break -- Chains, Forged By Habit, Which It Would Be Cruel To Attempt To Loosen.

I Shall Smile When Wreaths Of Snow Blossom Where The Rose Should Grow.

The Lord Help Us!' He Soliloquised In An Undertone Of Peevish Displeasure, While Relieving Me Of My Horse: Looking, Meantime, In My Face So Sourly That I Charitably Conjectured He Must Have Need Of Divine Aid To Digest His Dinner, And His Pious Ejaculation Had No Reference To My Unexpected Advent.

He'll Love And Hate Equally Under Cover, And Esteem It A Species Of Impertinence To Loved Or Hated Again.

If All Else Perished, And He Remained, I Should Still Continue To Be; And If All Else Remained, And He Were Annihilated, The Universe Would Turn To A Mighty Stranger.