Each Substance Of A Grief Has Twenty

Thou Slave, Thou Wretch, Thou Coward! Thou Little Valiant, Great In Villainy! Thou Ever Strong Upon The Stronger Side! Thou Fortune's Champion, That Dost Never Fight But Where Her Humorous Ladyship Is By To Teach Thee Safety.

The Brightness Of Her Cheek Would Shame Those Stars As Daylight Doth A Lamp; Her Eyes In Heaven Would Through The Airy Region Stream So Bright That Birds Would Sing, And Think It Were Not Night.

Heat Not A Furnace For Your Foe So Hot That It Do Singe Yourself.

Life... Is A Paradise To What We Know Of Death.

I Do Know When The Blood Burns, How Prodigal The Soul Lends The Tongue Vows.