Friends are nations in themselves.
Beauty is just a light switch away...'click!' Beauty is not caused. It is.
The soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more.
Much Madness is divinest Sense -- To a discerning Eye -- Much Sense -- the starkest Madness -- 'Tis the Majority In this, as All, prevail -- Assent -- and you are sane -- Demur -- you're straightway dangerous -- And handled with a Chain --
Existence has overpowered Books. Today I slew a Mushroom.
a sick room is at times too sacred a place for a friend's knock, timid as that is.