Till Taught By Pain, Men Know Not

I Speak Not Of Men's Creeds—they Rest Between Man And His Maker.

The Place Is Very Well And Quiet And The Children Only Scream In A Low Voice.

Why Do They Call Me Misanthrope? Because They Hate Me, Not I Them.

Tis The Perception Of The Beautiful, A Fine Extension Of The Faculties, Platonic, Universal, Wonderful, Drawn From The Stars, And Filtered Through The Skies, Without Which Life Would Be Extremely Dull

All Human History Attests That Happiness For Man, - The Hungry Sinner! - Since Eve Ate Apples, Much Depends On Dinner. ~lord Byron, Don Juan, Canto Xiii, Stanza 99