The Present Is Burthened Too Much With

It Is A Little Remarkable, That - Though Disinclined To Talk Overmuch Of Myself And My Affairs At The Fireside, And To My Personal Friends - An Autobiographical Impulse Should Twice In My Life Have Taken Possession Of Me, In Addressing The Public.

Romance And Poetry, Ivy, Lichens And Wallflowers Need Ruin To Make Them Grow.

What, In The Name Of Common-sense, Had I To Do With Any Better Society Than I Had Always Lived In?

The Whole Forest Was Peopled With Frightful Sounds-the Creaking Of The Trees, The Howling Of Wild Beasts, And The Yell Of Indians; While Sometimes The Wind Tolled Like A Distant Church Bell, And Sometimes Gave A Broad Roar Around The Traveler, As If All Nature Were Laughing Him To Scorn. But He Was Himself The Chief Horror Of The Scene, And Shrank Not From Its Other Horrors.

Sleeping Or Waking, We Hear Not The Airy Footsteps Of The Strange Things That Almost Happen.