Short Time Seems Long In Sorrow's Sharp

I Had Rather Chop This Hand Off At A Blow, And With The Other Fling It At Thy Face.

Sleep Knits Up The Raveled Sleeve Of Care.

Learning Is But An Adjunct To Ourself, And Where We Are Our Learning Likewise Is.

The Rose Looks Fair, But Fairer We It Deem For That Sweet Odour Which Doth In It Live.

O Thou That Dost Inhabit In My Breast, Leave Not The Mansion So Long Tenantless; Lest, Growing Ruinous, The Building Fall And Leave No Memory Of What It Was!