Poetry Makes Life What Lights And Music

Veels Vithin Veels, A Prison In A Prison.

Marley Was Dead, To Begin With. There Is No Doubt Whatever About That. The Register Of His Burial Was Signed By The Clergyman, The Clerk, The Undertaker, And The Chief Mourner. Scrooge Signed It. And Scrooge's Name Was Good Upon 'change For Anything He Chose To Put His Hand To. Old Marley Was As Dead As A Door-nail.

I Have Sometimes Sat Alone Here Of An Evening, Listening, Until I Have Made The Echoes Out To Be The Echoes Of All The Footsteps That Are Coming By And By Into Our Lives. "jerry, Say That My Answer Was, 'recalled To Life.

He Had A Certain Air Of Being A Handsome Man-which He Was Not; And A Certain Air Of Being A Well-bred Man-which He Was Not. It Was Mere Swagger And Challenge; But In This Particular, As In Many Others, Blustering Assertion Goes For Proof, Half Over The World.

I Must Be Taken As I Have Been Made. The Success Is Not Mine, The Failure Is Not Mine, But The Two Together Make Me.