The Soul Selects Her Own Society.

I Have An Appetite For Silence.

A Bayonet's Contrition Is Nothing To The Dead.

Forever Is Made Up Of Nows.

Witchcraft Was Hung, In History, But History And I Find All The Witchcraft That We Need Around Us, Every Day -

Victory Comes Late-- And Is Held Low To Freezing Lips-- Too Rapt With Frost To Take It