Despair Is The Only Genuine

I Would Rather Dwell In The Dim Fog Of Superstition Than In Air Rarefied To Nothing By The Air-pump Of Unbelief-in Which The Panting Breast Expires, Vainly And Convulsively Gasping For Breath.

The Gymnasium Of Running, Walking On Stilts, Climbing, Etc. Stells And Makes Hardy Single Powers And Muscles, But Dancing, Like A Corporeal Poesy, Embellishes, Exercises, And Equalizes All The Muscles At Once.

Never Part Without Loving Words To Think Of During Your Absence. It May Be That You Will Not Meet Again In This Life.

He Thought Of The Mouldering Child, Which Laid Its Withered Thin Arms Around His Soul, As If It Were His Own, And To Whom Death Had Given As Much As A God Gave To Endymion, — Sleep, Eternal Youth, And Immortality.

Gray Hairs Seem To My Fancy Like The Soft Light Of The Moon, Silvering Over The Evening Of Life.