The Light That Lies In

He Has Left Off Reading Altogether, To The Great Improvement Of His Originality.

Merit, God Knows, Is Very Little Rewarded.

Books Think For Me. I Can Read Anything Which I Call A Book.

I Conceive Disgust At Those Impertinent And Misbecoming Familiarities, Inscribed Upon Your Ordinary Tombstones. Every Dead Man Must Take Upon Himself To Be Lecturing Me With His Odious Truism, That "such As He Now Is, I Must Shortly Be." Not So Shortly, Friend, Perhaps, As Thou Imaginest. In The Meantime I Am Alive. I Move About. I Am Worth Twenty Of Thee. Know Thy Betters!

An Album Is A Garden, Not For Show Planted, But Use; Where Wholesome Herbs Should Grow.