What Feeds Me Destroys Me.

What Are Kings, When Regiment Is Gone, But Perfect Shadows In A Sunshine Day?

Lone Women, Like To Empty Houses, Perish.

... When All The World Dissolves, And Every Creature Shall Be Purified, All Places Shall Be Hell That Are Not Heaven.

Hell Strives With Grace For Conquest In My Breast. What Shall I Do To Shun The Snares Of Death?

O, Thou Art Fairer Than The Evening Air Clad In The Beauty Of A Thousand Stars.