I Can Hardly Forbear Hurling Things At

But Thought's The Slave Of Life, And Life Time's Fool.

How Much Better Is It To Weep At Joy Than To Joy At Weeping?

I Do Not Set My Life At A Pin's Fee, And For My Soul, What Can It Do To That, Being A Thing Immortal As Itself?

The Cat Will Mew, And Dog Will Have His Day.

A Peevish Self-willed Harlotry It Is. *she’s A Stubborn Little Brat.*