Hell Is Full Of Good Intentions.

Poetry Is Thoughts That Breathe, And Words That Burn.

I Shall Be But A Shrimp Of An Author.

Alas, Regardless Of Their Doom, The Little Victims Play! No Sense Have They Of Ills To Come Nor Care Beyond Today.

And Moody Madness Laughing Wild Amid Severest Woe.

Far From The Madding Crowd's Ignoble Strife.