Women Are Like The Arts, Forced Unto

Since You Would Save None Of Me, I Bury Some Of You.

Whoever Loves, If He Do Not Propose The Right True End Of Love, He's One That Goes To Sea For Nothing But To Make Him Sick.

Poor Intricated Soul! Riddling, Perplexed, Labyrinthical Soul!

God Himself Took A Day To Rest In, And A Good Man's Grave Is His Sabbath.

Be Thine Own Palace, Or The World's Thy Jail.