Experience has taught me, when I am shaving of a morning, to keep watch over my thoughts, because, if a line of poetry strays into my memory, my skin bristles so that the razor ceases to act. . . . The seat of this sensation is the pit of the stomach.
When I was one-and-twenty I heard him say again, "The heart out of the bosom Was never given in vain; 'Tis Paid with sighs aplenty And sold for endless rue. And I am two-and-twenty, And Oh, 'tis true, 'tis true."