He ne'er is crowned with immortality Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.
Talking of Pleasure, this moment I was writing with one hand, and with the other holding to my Mouth a Nectarine - how good how fine. It went down all pulpy, slushy, oozy, all its delicious embonpoint melted down my throat like a large, beatified Strawberry.
My chest of books divide amongst my friends.
I wish I was either in your arms full of faith, or that a Thunder bolt would strike me.
All clean and comfortable I sit down to write.
O aching time! O moments big as years!