You Have Left Me So Long To

Terror Made Me Cruel; And Finding It Useless To Attempt Shaking The Creature Off, I Pulled Its Wrist On To The Broken Pane, And Rubbed It To And Fro Till The Blood Ran Down And Soaked The Bedclothes.

A Sensible Man Ought To Find Sufficient Company In Himself.

I'm Happiest When Most Away I Can Bear My Soul From Its Home Of Clay On A Windy Night When The Moon Is Bright And The Eye Can Wander Through Worlds Of Light— When I Am Not And None Beside— Nor Earth Nor Sea Nor Cloudless Sky— But Only Spirit Wandering Wide Through Infinite Immensity.

The Tyrant Grinds Down His Slaves And They Don't Turn Against Him, They Crush Those Beneath Them.

Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of, His And Mine Are The Same; And Linton's Is As Different As A Moonbeam From Lightning, Or Frost From Fire