I Hate The Murderer, Love Him Murdered.

The Lowest Ebb Is The Turn Of The Tide. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow We Are Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made Of.

She Speaks Poniards, And Every Word Stabs: If Her Breath Were As Terrible As Her Terminations, There Were No Living Near Her; She Would Infect To The North Star. I Would Not Marry Her, Though She Were Endowed With All That Adam Bad Left Him Before He Transgressed.

I Love You More Than Word Can Wield The Matter, Dearer Than Eye-sight, Space And Liberty

I Cannot, Nor I Will Not Hold Me Still; My Tongue, Though Not My Heart, Shall Have His Will.

I'll Follow Thee And Make A Heaven Of Hell, To Die Upon The Hand I Love So Well