Hide Not Thy Poison With Such Sugar'd

It Is Silliness To Live When To Live Is Torment.

If I May Trust The Flattering Truth Of Sleep, My Dreams Presage Some Joyful News At Hand. My Bosom's Lord Sits Lightly In His Throne, And All This Day An Unaccustomed Spirit Lifts Me Above The Ground With Cheerful Thoughts.

This Is The Very Coinage Of Your Brain: This Bodiless Creation Ecstasy.

If Thou Art Rich, Thou Art Poor; For, Like An Ass, Whose Back With Ingots Bows, Thou Bearest Thy Heavy Riches But A Journey, And Death Unloads Thee.

A Grandma's Name Is Little Less In Love Than Is The Doting Title Of A Mother.