Oh That The Desert Were My Dwelling-place,

This Is The Patent Age Of New Inventions For Killing Bodies, And For Saving Souls. All Propagated With The Best Intentions.

It Is Useless To Tell One Not To Reason But To Believe; You Might As Well Tell A Man Not To Wake But Sleep.

Better To Sink Beneath The Shock Than Moulder Piecemeal On The Rock!

The Waves Were Dead; The Tides Were In Their Grave, The Moon, Their Mistress, Had Expir'd Before; The Winds Were Wither'd In The Stagnant Air, And The Clouds Perish'd; Darkness Had No Need Of Aid From Them-she Was The Universe.

My Turn Of Mind Is So Given To Taking Things In The Absurd Point Of View, That It Breaks Out In Spite Of Me Every Now And Then.