My Dear Brothers, Never Forget, When You

Amer Savoir, Celui Qu'on Tire Du Voyage! Bitter Is The Knowledge Gained In Travelling.

The More Delicate And Ambitious The Soul, The Further Do Dreams Estrange It From Possible Things.

Nature Is A Word, An Allegory, A Mold, An Embossing, If You Will.

Nothing Is As Tedious As The Limping Days, When Snowdrifts Yearly Cover All The Ways, And Ennui, Sour Fruit Of Incurious Gloom, Assumes Control Of Fate’s Immortal Loom

How Little Remains Of The Man I Once Was, Save The Memory Of Him! But Remembering Is Only A New Form Of Suffering.