Thou Canst Not Touch The Freedom Of

A Beardless Cynic Is The Shame Of Nature.

I Cannot Praise A Fugitive And Cloistered Virtue, Unexercised And Unbreathed, That Never Sallies Out And Sees Her Adversary, But Slinks Out Of The Race Where That Immortal Garland Is To Be Run For, Not Without Dust And Heat.

Biochemically, Love Is Just Like Eating Large Amounts Of Chocolate.

With Diadem And Sceptre High Advanced, The Lower Still I Fall; Only Supreme In Misery; Such Joy Ambition Finds.

Tears Such As Angels Weep.