Downy Sleep, Death's Counterfeit.

Hell Is Empty And All The Devils Are Here.

A Knot You Are Of Damned Bloodsuckers.

For Where Thou Art, There Is The World Itself, With Every Several Pleasure In The World, And Where Thou Art Not, Desolation.

What Should We Speak Of When We Are Old As You? When We Shall Hear The Rain And Wind Beat Dark December? How, In This Our Pinching Cave, Shall We Discourse The Freezing Hours Away?

Comfort's In Heaven, And We Are On The Earth