Our Journey Had Advanced; Our Feet Were

The Appetite For Silence Is Seldom An Acquired Taste.

How Softly Summer Shuts, Without The Creaking Of A Door.

Those Who Have Not Found The Heaven Below, Will Fail Of It Above.

I Dwell In Possibility.

Mine Enemy Is Growing Old -- I Have At Last Revenge -- The Palate Of The Hate Departs -- If Any Would Avenge Let Him Be Quick -- The Viand Flits -- It Is A Faded Meat -- Anger As Soon As Fed Is Dead -- 'tis Starving Makes It Fat