I should write for the mere yearning and fondness I have for the beautiful, even if my night's labors should be burnt every morning and no eye shine upon them.

Faded the flower and all its budded charms,Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes,Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise!Vanishd unseasonably

I think we may class the lawyer in the natural history of monsters.

My chest of books divide amongst my friends.

And when thou art weary I'll find thee a bed, Of mosses and flowers to pillow thy head.

Who would wish to be among the commonplace crowd of the little famous - who are each individually lost in a throng made up of themselves?

Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time.