Yes," I Said, "for The Love Of

That Pleasure Which Is At Once The Most Pure, The Most Elevating And The Most Intense, Is Derived, I Maintain, From The Contemplation Of The Beautiful.

I Dread The Events Of The Future, Not In Themselves But In Their Results.

The Higher Powers Of The Reflective Intellect Are More Decidedly And More Usefully Tasked By The Unostentatious Game Of Draughts Than By All The Elaborate Frivolity Of Chess.

...the Agony Of My Soul Found Vent In One Loud, Long And Final Scream Of Despair.

I Wish I Could Write As Mysterious As A Cat.