He Was Met Even Now As Mad

Every Thing That Grows / Holds In Perfection But A Little Moment.

If I Were A Woman I Would Kiss As Many Of You As Had Beards That Pleased Me, Complexions That Liked Me And Breaths That I Defied Not

Tis In Ourselves That We Are Thus Or Thus. Our Bodies Are Our Gardens, To The Which Our Wills Are Gardeners: So That If We Will Plant Nettles, Or Sow Lettuce, Set Hyssop And Weed Up Tine, Supply It With One Gender Of Herbs, Or Distract It With Many, Either To Have It Sterile With Idleness, Or Manured With Industry, Why, The Power And Corrigible Authority Of This Lies In Our Wills.

There's Not A Note Of Mine That's Worth The Noting.

At Once, Good Night- Stand Not Upon The Order Of Your Going, But Go At Once.