I Am Well Aware That

When A Man Bleeds Inwardly, It Is A Dangerous Thing For Himself; But When He Laughs Inwardly, It Bodes No Good To Other People.

I Want To Escape From Myself. For When I Do Start Up And Stare Myself Seedily In The Face, As Happens To Be My Case At Present, My Blankness Is Inconceivable--indescribable--my Misery Amazing.

There Are Hopes, The Bloom Of Whose Beauty Would Be Spoiled By The Trammels Of Description; Too Lovely, Too Delicate, Too Sacred For Words, They Should Only Be Known Through The Sympathy Of Hearts.

And O There Are Days In This Life, Worth Life And Worth Death.

My Imagination Would Never Have Served Me As It Has, But For The Habit Of Commonplace, Humble, Patient, Daily, Toiling, Drudging Attention