Sweets To The Sweet.

Either Our History Shall With Full Mouth Speak Freely Of Our Acts, Or Else Our Grave, Like Turkish Mute, Shall Have A Tongueless Mouth, Not Worshipped With A Waxen Epitaph.

Such Is My Love, To Thee I So Belong, That For Thy Right Myself Will Bear All Wrong.

This Senior-junior, Giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid; Regent Of Love-rhymes, Lord Of Folded Arms, The Anointed Sovereign Of Sighs And Groans, Liege Of All Loiterers And Malcontents.

We Cannot All Be Masters.

It Is Not In The Stars To Hold Our Destiny But In Ourselves.