My Heart Is Wax Molded As She

One Swallow Alone Does Not Make A Summer.

History Is In A Manner A Sacred Thing, So Far As It Contains Truth; For Where Truth Is, The Supreme Father Of It May Also Be Said To Be, At Least, Inasmuch As Concerns Truth.

The Reason For The Unreason With Which You Treat My Reason , So Weakens My Reason That With Reason I Complain Of Your Beauty.

But My Thoughts Ran A Wool-gathering; And I Did Like The Countryman, Who Looked For His Ass While He Was Mounted On His Back.

There Is No Love Lost Between Us.