I dwell in possibilities... a fairer house than prose.
I must go in, the fog is rising.
A precious, mouldering pleasure 't is, to meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore; A privilege I think.
I dwell in possiblities.
Love is everything. And that's all we know about it.
My love for those I love -- not many -- not very many, but don't I love them so?