I Required Kindness And Sympathy, But I

My Spirit Will Sleep In Peace; Or If It Thinks, It Will Not Surely Think Thus. Farewell.

Life And Death Appeared To Me Ideal Bounds, Which I Should First Break Through, And Pour A Torrent Of Light Into Our Dark World.

Our Feelings Probably Are Not Less Strong At Fifty Than They Were Ten Or Fifteen Years Before; But They Have Changed Their Objects, And Dwell On Far Different Prospects. At Five-and-thirty A Man Thinks Of What His Own Existence Is; When The Maturity Of Age Has Grown Into Its Autumn, He Is Wrapt Up In That Of Others. The Loss Of Wife Or Child Then Becomes More Deplorable, As Being Impossible To Repair; For No Fresh Connection Can Give Us Back The Companion Of Our Earlier Years, Nor A "new-sprung Race" Compensate For That, Whose Career We Hoped To See Run.

The World Was To Me A Secret Which I Desired To Devine.

The Agony Of My Feelings Allowed Me No Respite; No Incident Occurred From Which My Rage And Misery Could Not Extract Its Food.