Every Man Who Is Not An Artist

Every Night And Every Morn Some To Misery Are Born. Every Morn And Every Night Some Are Born To Sweet Delight, Some Are Born To Endless Night.

As A Man Is, So He Sees. As The Eye Is Formed, Such Are Its Powers.

To My Eye Rubens' Colouring Is Most Contemptible. His Shadows Are A Filthy Brown Somewhat The Colour Of Excrement.

Little Lamb, Who Made Thee? Dost Thou Know Who Made Thee?

Sleep, Sleep, Beauty Bright,dreaming O'er The Joys Of Night.sleep, Sleep: In Thy Sleeplittle Sorrows Sit And Weep.