Crowded places, I shunned them as noises too rude / And flew to the silence of sweet solitude.

Burning hot is the ground, liquid gold is the air; Whoever looks round sees Eternity there.

Ah, words are poor receipts for what time hath stole away.

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise, Into the living sea of waking dreams, Where there is neither sense of life or joys, But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems; And e'en the dearest--that I love the best-- Are strange--nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I am gennerally understood tho I do not use that awkward squad of pointings called commas colons semicolons etc.

If life had a second edition, how I would correct the proofs.

I am the self-consumer of my woes.