You Know That Love Will Creep In

Friendship Is Full Of Dregs.

Happy Thou Art Not; For What Thou Hast Not, Still Thou Strivest To Get; And What Thou Hast, Forgettest.

Weep Not, Sweet Queen, For Trickling Tears Are Vain.

Sometimes When We Are Labeled, When We Are Branded Our Brand Becomes Our Calling.

Were I The Moor I Would Not Be Iago. In Following Him I Follow But Myself; Heaven Is My Judge, Not I For Love And Duty, But Seeming So For My Peculiar End. For When My Outward Action Doth Demonstrate The Native Act And Figure Of My Heart In Compliment Extern, ’tis Not Long After But I Will Wear My Heart Upon My Sleeve For Daws To Peck At. I Am Not What I Am