Out, Damned Spot! Out, I Say!

The Wounds Invisible That Love's Keen Arrows Make.

Even As One Heat Another Heat Expels, Or As One Nail By Strength Drives Out Another, So The Remembrance Of My Former Love Is By A Newer Object Quite Forgotten.

Now 'tis Spring, And Weeds Are Shallow-rooted; Suffer Them Now And They'll O'ergrow The Garden.

I Can No Longer Live By Thinking.

The Blood Weeps From My Heart When I Do Shape, In Forms Imaginary, Th' Unguided Days And Rotten Times That You Shall Look Upon When I Am Sleeping With My Ancestors.