I feel I am strange to all but the birds of America.

The fact is I am growing old too fast, alas! I feel it, and yet work I will, and may God grant me life to see the last plate of my mammoth work finished.

I am frivolous. Then I feel guilty.

I am a man-pen. I feel through the pen, because of the pen.

Surrounded by all the members of my dear family, enjoying the affection of numerous friends, who have never abandoned me, and possessing a sufficient share of all that contributes to make life agreeable, I lift my grateful eyes towards the Supreme Being and feel that I am happy.

I feel like I am in turbo mode as a student of entertainment.