We Got A Little Rule Back Home:

...if Fifty Bands Of Men Surrounded Us/ And Every Sword Sang For Your Blood,/ You Could Make Off Still With Their Cows And Sheep.

But Sure The Eye Of Time Beholds No Name, So Blest As Thine In All The Rolls Of Fame.

Nothing In The World Is So Incontinent As A Man's Accursed Appetite.

There Is The Heat Of Love, The Pulsing Rush Of Longing, The Lover’s Whisper, Irresistible—magic To Make The Sanest Man Go Mad.

Accept These Grateful Tears...for Thee They Flow, For Thee... That Ever Felt Another's Woe.