Wine Is Only Sweet To Happy Men.

I Have Nothing To Speak Of But My Self-and What Can I Say But What I Feel.

O Aching Time! O Moments Big As Years!

I Shall Soon Be Laid In The Quiet Grave--thank God For The Quiet Grave--o! I Can Feel The Cold Earth Upon Me--the Daisies Growing Over Me--o For This Quiet--it Will Be My First.

There Is An Electric Fire In Human Nature Tending To Purify - So That Among These Human Creatures There Is Continually Some Birth Of New Heroism. The Pity Is That We Must Wonder At It, As We Should At Finding A Pearl In Rubbish.

A Little Noiseless Noise Among The Leaves, Born Of The Very Sigh That Silence Heaves.