I Love You With So Much Of

Poor And Content Is Rich, And Rich Enough.

O Excellent! I Love Long Life Better Than Figs.

If Music Be The Food Of Love, Play On, Give Me Excess Of It; That Surfeiting, The Appetite May Sicken, And So Die.

Is Man No More Than This? Consider Him Well. Thou Ow'st The Worm No Silk, The Beast No Hide, The Sheep No Wool, The Cat No Perfume. Here's Three On's Are Sophisticated. Thou Art The Thing Itself; Unaccommodated Man Is No More Than Such A Poor, Bare, Forked Animal As Thou Art.

I Am Misanthropos, And Hate Mankind, For Thy Part, I Do Wish Thou Wert A Dog, That I Might Love Thee Something.