A Light Heart Lives Long.

My Life, My Joy, My Food, My Ail The World!

Anger's My Meat. I Sup Upon Myself, And So Shall Starve With Feeding.

There Is No Sure Foundation Set On Blood, No Certain Life Achieved By Others' Death.

But We Have Reason To Cool Our Raging Motions, Our Carnal Stings, Our Unbitted Lusts; Whereof I Take This That You Call Love To Bea Sect Or Scion.... It Is Merely A Lust Of The Blood And A Permission Of The Will.

Like As The Waves Make Towards The Pebbl'd Shore, So Do Our Minutes, Hasten To Their End.