True Hope Is Swift, And Flies With

My Heart Is Turned To Stone; I Strike It, And It Hurts My Hand.

My Long Sickness Of Health And Living Now Begins To Mend, And Nothing Brings Me All Things.

It Is My Soul That Calls Upon My Name; How Silver-sweet Sound Lovers' Tongues By Night, Like Softest Music To Attending Ears! -romeo

He Was Not So Much Brain As Earwax

I Have Almost Forgotten The Taste Of Fears: The Time Has Been, My Senses Would Have Cool’d To Hear A Night-shriek; And My Fell Of Hair Would At A Dismal Treatise Rouse And Stir As Life Were In’t: I Have Supt Full With Horrors; Direness, Familiar To My Slaughterous Thoughts, Cannot Once Start Me.