I Roused Myself From The Book Which

My Hour For Tea Is Half-past Five, And My Buttered Toast Waits For Nobody.

Is There Any Wilderness Of Sand In The Deserts Of Arabia, Is There Any Prospect Of Desolation Among The Ruins Of Palestine, Which Can Rival The Repelling Effect On The Eye, And The Depressing Influence On The Mind, Of An English Country Town In The First Stage Of Its Existence, And In The Transition State Of Its Prosperity?

Habits Of Literary Composition Are Perfectly Familiar To Me. One Of The Rarest Of All The Intellectual Accomplishments That A Man Can Possess Is The Grand Faculty Of Arranging His Ideas. Immense Privilege! I Possess It. Do You?

Let The Music Speak To Us Of Tonight, In A Happier Language Than Our Own.

I Am A Citizen Of The World, And I Have Met, In My Time, With So Many Different Sorts Of Virtue, That I Am Puzzled, In My Old Age, To Say Which Is The Right Sort And Which Is The Wrong.