I Deny Nothing, But Doubt Everything.

Next To Dressing For A Rout Or Ball, Undressing Is A Woe.

So Do The Dark In Soul Expire, Or Live Like Scorpion Girt By Fire; So Writhes The Mind Remorse Hath Riven, Unfit For Earth, Undoom'd For Heaven, Darkness Above, Despair Beneath, Around It Flame, Within It Death.

Hatred Is The Madness Of The Heart.

The Devil Was The First Democrat

Of All The Horrid, Hideous Notes Of Woe, Sadder Than Owl-songs Or The Midnight Blast; Is That Portentous Phrase, "i Told You So.