Truly, This World Can Go On Without

Autumn Arrives Like A Warrior With The Stain Of Blood Upon His Brazen Mail. His Crimson Scarf Is Rent. His Scarlet Banner Drips With Gore. His Step Is Like A Flail Upon The Threshing Floor.

I Love The Season Well When Forest Glades Are Teeming With Bright Forms, Nor Dark And Many-folded Clouds Foretell The Coming Of Storms.

If The Mind, That Rules The Body, Ever So Far Forgets Itself As To Trample On Its Slave, The Slave Is Never Generous Enough To Forgive The Injury, But Will Rise And Smite The Oppressor.

I Am Never Indifferent, And Never Pretend To Be, To What People Say Or Think Of My Books. They Are My Children, And I Like To Have Them Liked.

More And More Do I Feel, As I Advance In Life, How Little We Really Know Of Each Other. Friendship Seems To Me Like The Touch Of Musical-glasses--it Is Only Contact; But The Glasses Themselves, And Their Contents, Remain Quite Distinct And Unmingled.