And He Goes Through Life, His Mouth

No Profit Grows Where No Pleasure Is Taken.

My Stronger Guilt Defeats My Strong Intent.

I Thought My Heart Had Been Wounded With The Claws Of A Lion.

I Go, I Go, Look How I Go, Swifter Than An Arrow From A Bow

But There Is No Such Man; For, Brother, Men Can Counsel And Speak Comfort To That Grief Which They Themselves Not Feel; But, Tasting It, Their Counsel Turns To Passion, Which Before Would Give Preceptial Medicine To Rage, Fetter Strong Madness In A Silken Thread, Charm Ache With Air And Agony With Words.