That Soul That Can Be Honest Is

I Find The Medicine Worse Than The Malady.

Death Hath So Many Doors To Let Out Life.

It's Impossible To Ravish Me, I'm So Willing.

Ask How To Live? Write, Write, Write, Anything; The World's A Fine Believing World, Write News.

Our Acts Our Angels Are, For Good Or Ill, Our Fatal Shadows That Walk By Us Still.