The Prize Of All Too Precious You.

Thy Words, I Grant Are Bigger, For I Wear Not, My Dagger In My Mouth.

How Soar Sweet Music Is, When Time Is Broke, And No Proportion Kept!

The Patient Must Minister To Himself

Their Manners Are More Gentle, Kind, Than Of Our Human Generation You Shall Find.

Why What A Fool Was I To This Drunken Monster For A God. - Caliban