Many Can Brook The Weather That Love

No, No, I Am But Shadow Of Myself: You Are Deceived, My Substance Is Not Here.

I'll Read Enough When I Do See The Very Book Indeed Where All My Sins Are Writ, And That's Myself.

You Know Who You Are, But Know Not Who You Could Be.

Oft Have I Heard That Grief Softens The Mind And Makes It Fearful And Degenerate.

Muster Your Wits; Stand In Your Own Defence.