He That Dies This Year Is Quit

All Fancy-sick She Is And Pale Of Cheer, With Sighs Of Love, That Costs The Fresh Blood Dear.

O, This Life Is Nobler Than Attending For A Check, Richer Than Doing Nothing For A Robe, Prouder Than Rustling In Unpaid-for Silk: Such Pain The Cap Of Him That Makes Him Fine Yet Keeps His Book Uncrossed.

The Eyes Are The Window To Your Soul

Friendship Is Constant In All Other Things, Save In The Office And Affairs Of Love.

What Freezings I Have Felt, What Dark Days Seen, What Old December's Bareness Everywhere!