Tis The Times' Plague, When Madmen Lead

They Have Been At A Great Feast Of Languages, And Stolen The Scraps.

Lilies That Fester Smell Far Worse Than Weeds.

O, Here Will I Set Up My Everlasting Rest, And Shake The Yoke Of Inauspicious Stars From This World-wearied Flesh. Eyes, Look Your Last! Arms, Take Your Last Embrace! And, Lips, O You The Doors Of Breath, Seal With A Righteous Kiss A Dateless Bargain To Engrossing Death!

In Friendship, As In Love, We Are Often Happier Through Our Ignorance Than Our Knowledge.

The Instruments Of Darkness Tell Us Truths.