Then Felt I Like Some Watcher Of

Nothing Is Finer For The Purposes Of Great Productions Than A Very Gradual Ripening Of The Intellectual Powers.

My Friends Should Drink A Dozen Of Claret On My Tomb.

O For A Life Of Sensations Rather Than Of Thoughts!

To Sorrow I Bade Good-morrow, And Thought To Leave Her Far Away Behind; But Cheerly, Cheerly, She Loves Me Dearly: She Is So Constant To Me, And So Kind.

How Astonishingly Does The Chance Of Leaving The World Improve A Sense Of Its Natural Beauties Upon Us. Like Poor Falstaff, Although I Do Not 'babble,' I Think Of Green Fields; I Muse With The Greatest Affection On Every Flower I Have Know From My Infancy - Their Shapes And Colours Are As New To Me As If I Had Just Created Them With Superhuman Fancy.