I Love You With So Much Of

Yet This My Comfort: When Your Words Are Done, My Woes End Likewise With The Evening Sun.

The Eye Of Man Hath Not Heard, The Ear Of Man Hath Not Seen, Man's Hand Is Not Able To Taste, His Tongue To Conceive, Nor His Heart To Report, What My Dream Was.

He Is Not Great Who Is Not Greatly Good.

I Stand For Judgment: Answer: Shall I Have It?

He That Loves To Be Flattered Is Worthy O' The Flatterer.