Then Felt I Like Some

For Axioms In Philosophy Are Not Axioms Until They Are Proved Upon Our Pulses.

Can Death Be Sleep, When Life Is But A Dream, And Scenes Of Bliss Pass As A Phantom By? ---"on Death

Literary Men Are . . . A Perpetual Priesthood.

There Is Nothing Stable In The World; Uproar's Your Only Music.

Talking Of Pleasure, This Moment I Was Writing With One Hand, And With The Other Holding To My Mouth A Nectarine - How Good How Fine. It Went Down All Pulpy, Slushy, Oozy, All Its Delicious Embonpoint Melted Down My Throat Like A Large, Beatified Strawberry.