I Almost Die For Food, And Let

A High Hope For A Low Heaven: God Grant Us Patience!

A Good Old Man, Sir. He Will Be Talking. As They Say, When The Age Is In, The Wit Is Out.

Like A Red Morn That Ever Yet Betokened, Wreck To The Seaman, Tempest To The Field, Sorrow To The Shepherds, Woe Unto The Birds, Gusts And Foul Flaws To Herdmen And To Herds.

The One I Love Is The Son Of The One I Hate! -juliet P. 75

What's Past And What's To Come Is Strew'd With Husks And Formless Ruin Of Oblivion.