We Are All Selfish And I No

Fare Thee Well, And If For Ever Still For Ever Fare Thee Well.

Glory, Like The Phoenix 'midst Her Fires, Exhales Her Odours, Blazes, And Expires.

Of Religion I Know Nothing -- At Least, In Its Favor.

That Prose Is A Verse, And Verse Is A Prose; Convincing All, By Demonstrating Plain – Poetic Souls Delight In Prose Insane

Man's Conscience Is The Oracle Of God.