Honesty Is Not The Best Policy -

I Can See His Pride Peep Through Each Part Of Him.

There Is Some Soul Of Goodness In Things Evil, Would Men Observingly Distill It Out.

The Sense Of Death Is Most In Apprehension, And The Poor Beetle, That We Tread Upon, In Corporal Sufferance Finds A Pang As Great As When A Giant Dies.

And In The Morn And Liquid Dew Of Youth, Contagious Blastments Are Are Most Imminent.

I Have Almost Forgotten The Taste Of Fears: The Time Has Been, My Senses Would Have Cool’d To Hear A Night-shriek; And My Fell Of Hair Would At A Dismal Treatise Rouse And Stir As Life Were In’t: I Have Supt Full With Horrors; Direness, Familiar To My Slaughterous Thoughts, Cannot Once Start Me.