What If This Present Were The World's

Without Outward Declarations, Who Can Conclude An Inward Love?

Sleep Is Pain's Easiest Salve

And When A Whirl-winde Hath Blowne The Dust Of The Churchyard Into The Church, And Man Sweeps Out The Dust Of The Church Into The Church-yard, Who Will Undertake To Sift Those Dusts Again, And To Pronounce, This Is The Patrician, This Is The Noble Flower, And This The Yeomanly, This The Plebian Bran.

Ask Not For Whom The Bell Tolls; It Tolls For Thee

I Am Two Fools, I Know, For Loving, And For Saying So.