Too Early Seen Unknown, And Known Too

And Nothing Can We Call Our Own But Death And That Small Model Of The Barren Earth Which Serves As Paste And Cover To Our Bones. For God's Sake, Let Us Sit Upon The Ground And Tell Sad Stories Of The Death Of Kings.

A Woman Moved Is Like A Fountain Troubled, Muddy, Ill-seeming, Thick, Bereft Of Beauty.

Let Me Not To The Marriage Of True Minds Admit Impediments: Love Is Not Love Which Alters When It Alteration Finds.

No Metal Can--no, Not The Hangman's Axe--bear Half The Keenness Of Thy Sharp Envy.

Hold, Or Cut Bowstrings.