Life... Is A Paradise To What We

Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind Thou Art Not So Unkind, As Man's Ingratitude.

Within The Book And Volume Of Thy Brain.

Time Travels At Different Speeds For Different People. I Can Tell You Who Time Strolls For, Who It Trots For, Who It Gallops For, And Who It Stops Cold For.

All Pity Choked With Custom Of Fell Deeds.

For Love, Thou Know'st, Is Full Of Jealousy