Dying Is A Wild Night And A

A Letter Always Seemed To Me Like Immortality Because It Is The Mind Alone Without Corporeal Friend.

Remorse Is Cureless--the Disease Not Even God--can Heal-- For 'tis His Institution--and The Adequate Of Hell

I Felt A Cleaving In My Mind- As If My Brain Had Split- I Tried To Match It- Seam By Seam- But Could Not Make It Fit.

One Need Not Be A Chamber To Be Haunted.

I Imagine Therefore I Belong And Am Free.