Haply A Woman's Voice May Do Some

Appetite, A Universal Wolf.

It Is Thyself, Mine Own Self's Better Part; Mine Eye's Clear Eye, My Dear Heart's Dearer Heart; My Food, My Fortune, And My Sweet Hope's Aim, My Sole Earth's Heaven, And My Heaven's Claim.

I'll Be Supposed Upon A Book, His Face Is The Worst Thing About Him.

Retire Me To My Milan, Where Every Third Thought Shall Be My Grave.

To Stand Against The Deep Dread-bolted Thunder, In The Most Terrible And Nimble Stroke Of Quick, Cross Lightning.