The World Is A Bundle

None Are So Desolate But Something Dear, Dearer Than Self, Possesses Or Possess'd A Thought, And Claims The Homage Of A Tear.

If I Could Always Read, I Should Never Feel The Want Of Company.

Not To Admire, Is All The Art I Know To Make Men Happy, Or To Keep Them So. Thus Horace Wrote We All Know Long Ago; And Thus Pope Quotes The Precept To Re-teach From His Translation; But Had None Admired, Would Pope Have Sung, Or Horace Been Inspired?

Oh, Nature's Noblest Gift, My Grey Goose Quill, Slave Of My Thoughts, Obedient To My Will, Torn From The Parent Bird To Form A Pen, That Mighty Instrument Of Little Men.

He Makes A Solitude, And Calls It - Peace!