Words To Deeds Cold Breath Gives.

So Well Thy Words Become Thee As Thy Wounds.

The Wound Of Peace Is Surety, Surety Secure; But Modest Doubt Is Called The Beacon Of The Wise, The Tent That Searches To Th' Bottom Of The Worst.

Many Can Brook The Weather That Love Not The Wind.

Look Like The Innocent Flower, But Be The Serpent Under It.

Why, I Can Smile And Murder Whiles I Smile, And Cry 'content' To That Which Grieves My Heart, And Wet My Cheeks With Artificial Tears, And Frame My Face For All Occasions