These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends.

You Are Not Wood, You Are Not Stones, But Men.

To Be Slow In Words Is A Woman's Only Virtue.

What's Past And What's To Come Is Strew'd With Husks And Formless Ruin Of Oblivion.

When I Was At Home I Was In A Better Place

I Have Sounded The Very Base-string Of Humility.