Retirement Accords With The Tone Of My

And Wrinkles, The Damned Democrats, Won't Flatter.

Self-love For Ever Creeps Out, Like A Snake, To Sting Anything Which Happens To Stumble Upon It.

For A Man To Become A Poet (witness Petrarch And Dante), He Must Be In Love, Or Miserable.

Jealousy Dislikes The World To Know It.

But At Sixteen The Conscience Rarely Gnaws So Much, As When We Call Our Old Debts In At Sixty Years, And Draw The Accounts Of Evil, And Find A Deuced Balance With The Devil.