The True Poet Dreams Being Awake.

I Own That I Am Disposed To Say Grace Upon Twenty Other Occasions In The Course Of The Day Besides My Dinner. I Want A Form For Setting Out Upon A Pleasant Walk, For A Moonlight Ramble, For A Friendly Meeting, Or A Solved Problem. Why Have We None For Books, These Spiritual Repasts-a Grace Before Milton-a Grace Before Shakespeare-a Devotional Exercise Proper To Be Said Before Reading The Fairie Queene?

Clap An Extinguisher Upon Your Irony If You Are Unhappily Blessed With A Vein Of It.

We Grow Gray In Our Spirit Long Before We Grow Gray In Our Hair.

I Am, In Plainer Words, A Bundle Of Prejudices - Made Up Of Likings And Dislikings.

Shut Not Thy Purse-strings Always Against Painted Distress.