That Prose Is A Verse, And Verse

Fame Is The Thirst Of Youth.

Sighing That Nature Formed But One Such Man, And Broke The Die.

It Has Been Said That The Immortality Of The Soul Is A Grand Peut-tre -but Still It Is A Grand One. Everybody Clings To It -the Stupidest, And Dullest, And Wickedest Of Human Bipeds Is Still Persuaded That He Is Immortal.

I Can't But Say It Is An Awkward Sight To See One's Native Land Receding Through The Growing Waters; It Unmans One Quite, Especially When Life Is Rather New.

I Do Detest Everything Which Is Not Perfectly Mutual.