How Hard It Is For Women To

I'll Never Be Such A Gosling To Obey Instinct, But Stand As Is A Man Were Author Of Himself And Knew No Other Kin.

Fie, Fie, How Frantically I Square My Talk!

To Die: - To Sleep: No More; And, By A Sleep To Say We End The Heart-ache And The Thousand Natural Shocks That Flesh Is Heir To, 'tis A Consummation Devoutly To Be Wished.

Love Is Not Love Which Alters When It Alteration Finds, Or Bends With The Remover To Remove. O, No! It Is An Ever-fixed Mark, That Looks On Tempests And Is Never Shaken. It Is The Star To Every Wandering Bark, Whose Worth's Unknown, Although His Height Be Taken.

Woe, Destruction, Ruin, And Decay; The Worst Is Death And Death Will Have His Day.