The French Courage Proceeds From Vanity

As Falls The Dew On Quenchless Sands, Blood Only Serves To Wash Ambition's Hands.

I Deny Nothing, But Doubt Everything.

I Live Not In Myself, But I Become Portion Of That Around Me: And To Me High Mountains Are A Feeling, But The Hum Of Human Cities Torture.

This Is To Be Mortal, And Seek The Things Beyond Mortality.

I Am As Comfortless As A Pilgrim With Peas In His Shoes - And As Cold As Charity, Chastity Or Any Other Virtue.