O, Reason Not The Need!

All Things That Are, Are With More Spirit Chased Than Enjoyed.

Thy Tongue Makes Welsh As Sweet As Ditties Highly Penn'd, Sung By A Fair Queen In A Summer's Bower, With Ravishing Division, To Her Lute.

Dream On, Dream On, Of Bloody Deeds And Death.

Nothing Is So Common As The Wish To Be Remarkable.(attributed To)

But Wherefore Could Not I Pronounce 'amen'? I Had Most Need Of Blessing, And 'amen' Stuck In My Throat.