Love Is Not In Our Choice But

Seas Are The Fields Of Combat For The Winds; But When They Sweep Along Some Flowery Coast, Their Wings Move Mildly, And Their Rage Is Lost.

Fame Then Was Cheap, And The First Comer Sped; And They Have Kept It Since By Being Dead.

Home Is The Sacred Refuge Of Our Life.

Pains Of Love Be Sweeter Far Than All Other Pleasures Are.

For My Part, I Can Compare Her (a Gossip) To Nothing But The Sun; For, Like Him, She Knows No Rest, Nor Ever Sets In One Place But To Rise In Another.