What a haunting, inescapable riddle life was.
It was a pity thoughts always ran the easiest way, like water in old ditches.
Look thy last on all things lovely, Every hour
After all, what is every man? A horde of ghosts - like a Chinese nest of boxes - oaks that were acorns that were oaks. Death lies behind us, not in front - in our ancestors, back and back until.
An hour's terror is better than a lifetime of timidity.
Now that cleverness was the fashion most people were clever - even perfect fools; and cleverness after all was often only a bore: all head and no body