How Surely A Knowledge Of The World

Grief Has Been Compared To A Hydra; For Every One That Dies, Two Are Born.

For Even In Dreams A Good Deed Is Not Lost.

And Yet, And Yet, In These Our Ghostly Lives, Half Night, Half Day, Half Sleeping, Half Awake, How If Our Waking Life, Like That Of Sleep, Be All A Dream In That Eternal Life To Which We Wake Not Till We Sleep In Death

If A Pretty Woman Only Knew How Anger Improved Her Beauty! Her Complexion Needs No Other Paint Than Indignation.

Speak No Evil Of Women; I Tell Thee The Meanest Of Them Deserves Respect; For Of Women Do We Not All Come?