I Entrench Myself In My

Central Depth Of Purple, Leaves More Bright Than Rose, Who Shall Tell What Brightest Thought Out Of Darkness Grows? Who, Through What Funereal Pain, Souls To Love And Peace Attain? - Leigh Hunt (james Henry Leigh Hunt

Night's Deepest Gloom Is But A Calm; That Soothes The Weary Mind: The Labored Days Restoring Balm; The Comfort Of Mankind.

Stolen Sweets Are Always Sweeter, Stolen Kisses Much Completer, Stolen Looks Are Nice In Chapels, Stolen, Stolen Be Your Apples.

The Last Excessive Feelings Of Delight Are Always Grave.

The Rapturuous, Wild, And Ineffable Pleasure Of Drinking At Somebody Else's Expense