Give Me My Sin Again.

Words Without Thoughts Never To Heaven Go.

Thus Did I Keep My Person Fresh And New, My Presence, Like A Robe Pontifical, Ne'er Seen But Wondered At, And So My State, Seldom But Sumptuous, Showed Like A Feast.

He That Filches From Me My Good Name Robs Me Of That Which Enriches Him And Makes Me Poor Indeed.

A Man Loves The Meat In His Youth That He Cannot Endure In His Age.

Wolves And Bears, They Say, Casting Their Savagery Aside, Have Done Like Offices Of Pity.