Get Thee A Good Husband, And Use

Against Self-slaughter There Is A Prohibition So Divine That Cravens My Weak Hand.

Death Rock Me Asleep.

Omission To Do What Is Necessary Seals A Commission To A Blank Of Danger; And Danger, Like An Ague, Subtly Taints Even Then When We Sit Idly In The Sun.

Better Three Hours Too Soon, Than One Hour To Late.

Let Me Have War, Say I; It Exceeds Peace As Far As Day Does Night; It's Spritely, Waking, Audible, And Full Of Vent.