When I am not walking, I am reading. I cannot sit and think.
Oh, the pleasure of eating my dinner alone!
Oft in the stilly night, Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Fond memory brings the light Of other days around me; The smiles, the tears, Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone Now dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken.
Oh call it by some better name, For friendship sounds too cold.
A man cannot have a pure mind who refuses apple dumplings.
Not if I know myself at all.