An Envious Fever Of Pale And Bloodless

This Goodly Frame, The Earth, Seems To Me A Sterile Promontory.

A Loud Laugh Bespeaks A Vacant Mind!

To Beguile The Time, Look Like The Time. Bear Welcome In Your Eye, Your Hand, Your Tongue.

If After Every Tempest Come Such Calms, May The Winds Blow Till They Have Waken'd Death!

There Is No Creature Loves Me; And If I Die, No Soul Will Pity Me.