Honor Is But An Empty Bubble.

Death Ends Our Woes, And The Kind Grave Shuts Up The Mournful Scene.

Love Is A Passion Which Kindles Honor Into Noble Acts.

The Wretched Have No Friends.

Tomorrow Do Thy Worst, For I Have Lived Today: Be Fair Or Foul Or Rain Or Shine, The Joys I Have Possessed In Spite Of Fate Are Mine. Not Heaven Itself Upon The Past Has Power; But What Has Been Has Been, And I Have Had My Hour.

Words Are But Pictures Of Our Thoughts.