How some they have died, and some they have left me, And some are taken from me; all are departed; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

To pile up honey upon sugar, and sugar upon honey, to an interminable tedious sweetness.

I'm not final because I'm right, I'm right because I'm final.

Half as sober as a judge.

I love to lose myself in other men's minds. When I am not walking, I am reading; I cannot sit and think. Books think for me. - Charles Lamb (used pseudonym Elia),

The truant Fancy was a wanderer ever.