What The Vengeance, Could He Not Speak

For Conspiracy, I Know Not How It Tastes, Though It Be Dished For Me To Try How.

Nothing Routs Us But The Villainy Of Our Fears.

Write Till Your Ink Be Dry, And With Your Tears Moist It Again, And Frame Some Feeling Line That May Discover Such Integrity.

Still Constant Is A Wondrous Excellence.

Make The Upcoming Hour Overflow With Joy, And Let Pleasure Drown The Brim.