The Picture Waits For My Verdict; It

A Garden Is Like Those Pernicious Machineries Which Catch A Man's Coat-skirt Or His Hand, And Draw In His Arm, His Leg , And His Whole Body To Irresistible Destruction.

A Day For Toil, An Hour For Sport, But For A Friend Is Life Too Short.

When Believers And Unbelievers Live In The Same Manner - I Distrust The Religion.

The South-wind Brings Life, Sunshine And Desire, And On Every Mount And Meadow Breathes Aromatic Fire; But Over The Dead He Has No Power, The Lost, The Lost, He Cannot Restore; And, Looking Over The Hills, I Mourn The Darling Who Shall Not Return.

I See That Sensible Men And Conscientious Men All Over The World Were Of One Religion Of Well-doing And Daring.