The appetite for silence is seldom an acquired taste.

Tis not that dieing hurts us so- tis living- hurts us more.

I wonder if it hurts to live, And if they have to try, And whether, could they choose between, They would not rather die.

The dearest ones of time, the strongest friends of the soul--BOOKS.

PHOSPHORESCENCE. Now there's a word to lift your hat to... to find that phosphorescence, that light within, that's the genius behind poetry.

This is the Hour of Lead- Remembered, if outlived, As freezing persons, recollect the Snow- First-Chill-then Stupor- then the letting go---

I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea; Yet know I how the heather looks, And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God, Nor visited in Heaven; Yet certain am I of the spot, As if a chart were given.