If I Dream I Have You, I

Women Are Like The Arts, Forced Unto None, Open To All Searchers, Unprized, If Unknown.

Without Outward Declarations, Who Can Conclude An Inward Love?

I Shall Die Reading; Since My Book And A Grave Are So Near.

Man Hath Weaved Out A Net, And This Net Throwne Upon The Heavens, And Now They Are His Own.

No Man Is An Island, Entire Of Itself; Every Man Is A Piece Of The Continent, A Part Of The Main. If A Clod Be Washed Away By The Sea, Europe Is The Less, As Well As If A Promontory Were, As Well As If A Manor Of Thy Friend's Or Of Thine Own Were: Any Man's Death Diminishes Me, Because I Am Involved In Mankind, And Therefore Never Send To Know For Whom The Bells Tolls; It Tolls For Thee.