Too Much To Know Is To Know

I Will Praise Any Man That Will Praise Me.

He Is Deformed, Crooked, Old And Sere, Ill-faced, Worse Bodied, Shapeless Everywhere; Vicious, Ungentle, Foolish, Blunt, Unkind; Stigmatical In Making, Worse In Mind.

You Cannot Call It Love, For At Your Age The Heyday In The Blood Is Tame

My Charity Is Outrage, Life My Shame; And In That Shame Still Live My Sorrow's Rage!

You Know Who You Are, But Know Not Who You Could Be.