Your Hearts Are Mighty, Your Skins Are

Tis In Ourselves That We Are Thus Or Thus. Our Bodies Are Our Gardens To The Which Our Wills Are Gardeners.

Methought I Heard A Voice Cry 'sleep No More! Macbeth Does Murder Sleep', The Innocent Sleep, Sleep That Knits Up The Ravell'd Sleeve Of Care, The Death Of Each Day's Life, Sore Labour's Bath, Balm Of Hurt Minds, Great Nature's Second Course, Chief Nourisher In Life's Feast...

To You Your Father Should Be As A God; One That Composed Your Beauties, Yea, And One To Whom You Are But As A Form In Wax, By Him Imprinted, And Within His Power To Leave The Figure Or Disfigure It.

I Like Not Fair Terms And A Villain's Mind.

Be As Thou Wast Wont To Be. See As Thou Wast Wont To See.