Beauty Within Itself Should Not Be Wasted.

O That My Tongue Were In The Thunder's Mouth! Then With Passion Would I Shake The World, And Rouse From Sleep That Fell Anatomy Which Cannot Hear A Lady's Feeble Voice, Which Scorns A Modern Invocation.

In Black Ink My Love May Still Shine Bright.

Th Abuse Of Greatness Is When It Disjoins Remorse From Power.

He That Dies Pays All Debts.

I Were Better To Be Eaten To Death With A Rust Than To Be Scoured To Nothing With Perpetual Motion.