We were together. I forget the rest.

The powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse.

Logic and sermons never convince, The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul.

He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher.

Future years will never know the seething hell and the black infernal background, the countless minor scenes and interiors of the secession war; and it is best they should not. The real war will never get in the books.

Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.

Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me? And why should I not speak to you?