To be aliveโโis Power.
The dearest ones of time, the strongest friends of the soul--BOOKS.
I think Heaven will not be as good as earth, unless it bring with it that sweet power to remember, which is the staple of Heaven here.
Memory is a strange BellโJubilee, and Knell.
Inebriate of air am I, And debauchee of dew, Reeling, through endless summer days, From inns of molten blue.
I was almost persuaded to be a Christian. I thought I never again could be thoughtless and worldly. But I soon forgot my morning prayer or else it was irksome to me. One by one my old habits returned and I cared less for religion than ever.