Out Of My Great Sorrows, I Make

Matrimony; The High Sea For Which No Compass Has Yet Been Invented.

Experience Is A Good School. But The Fees Are High.

Literary History Is The Great Morgue Where All Seek The Dead Ones Whom They Love, Or To Whom They Are Related.

The Dragon-fly Is Dancing, - Is On The Water Glancing, She Flits About With Nimble Wing, The Flickering, Fluttering, Restless Thing. Besotted Chafers All Admire Her Light-blue, Gauze-like, Neat Attire; They Laud Her Blue Complexion, And Think Her Shape Perfection.

The Real Madness Probably Is Not Another Thing That The Wisdom Itself That, Tired Of Discovering The Shames Of The World, Has Taken The Intelligent Resolution To Become Mad