There was a little man, and he had a little soul; And he said, Little Soul, let us try, try, try!
May my last breath be drawn through a pipe, and exhaled in a jest.
I am Retired Leisure. I am to be met with in trim gardens. I am already come to be known by my vacant face and careless gesture, perambulating at no fixed pace nor with any settled purpose. I walk about; not to and from.
If there be a regal solitude, it is a sick-bed. How the patient lords it there!
My theory is to enjoy life, but my practice is against it.
Nothing puzzles me more than time and space; and yet nothing troubles me less, as I never think about them.