History Is But A Kind

My Father Died And Left Me His Blessing And His Business. His Blessing Brought No Money Into My Pocket, And As To His Business, It Soon Deserted Me, For I Was Busy Writing Poetry, And Could Not Attend To Law, And My Clients, Though They Had Great Respect For My Talents, Had No Faith In A Poetical Attorney.

Angling Is An Amusement Peculiarly Adapted To The Mild And Cultivated Scenery Of England

Some Minds Corrode And Grow Inactive Under The Loss Of Personal Liberty; Others Grow Morbid And Irritable; But It Is The Nature Of The Poet To Become Tender And Imaginitive In The Loneliness Of Confinement. He Banquets Upon The Honey Of His Own Thoughts, And, Like The Captive Bird, Pours Forth His Soul In Melody.

He Who Thinks Much Says But Little In Proportion To His Thoughts. He Selects That Language Which Will Convey His Ideas In The Most Explicit And Direct Manner.

He Is The True Enchanter, Whose Spell Operates, Not Upon The Senses, But Upon The Imagination And The Heart.