Truth Never Hurts The Teller.

A Lion May Die Of An Ass's Kick.

One Who Never Turned His Back But Marched Breast Forward, Never Doubted Clouds Would Break, Never Dreamed, Though Right Were Worsted, Wrong Would Triumph, Held We Fall To Rise, Are Baffled To Fight Better, Sleep To Wake.

If All The World Is A Stage And Life Is Just A Play Upon It, Get Me Two Seats In The Stalls.

Where The Heart Lies, Let The Brain Lie Also.

That Moment She Was Mine, Mine, Fair, Perfectly Pure And Good: I Found A Thing To Do, And All Her Hair In One Long Yellow String I Wound Three Times Her Little Throat Around, And Strangled Her. No Pain Felt She; I Am Quite Sure She Felt No Pain. As A Shut Bud That Holds A Bee, I Warily Oped Her Lids: Again Laughed The Blue Eyes Without A Stain. And I Untightened The Next Tress About Her Neck; Her Cheek Once More Blushed Bright Beneath My Burning Kiss . . .