The Soul Selects Her Own Society.

Remorse Is Memory Awake.

I Dwell In Possiblities.

The Reticent Volcano Keeps His Never Slumbering Plan - Confided Are His Projects Pink To No Precarious Man.

How Very Sad It Is To Have A Confiding Nature, One's Hopes And Feelings Are Quite At The Mercy Of All Who Come Along; And How Very Desirable To Be A Stolid Individual, Whose Hopes And Aspirations Are Safe In One's Waistcoat Pocket, And That A Pocket Indeed, And One Not To Be Picked!

... I Have No Letter From The Dead, Yet Daily Love Them More.