The Brain Is Just The Weight Of

She Dealt Her Pretty Words Like Blades -- How Glittering They Shone -- And Every One Unbared A Nerve Or Wantoned With A Bone -- She Never Deemed -- She Hurt -- That -- Is Not Steel's Affair -- A Vulgar Grimace In The Flesh -- How Ill The Creatures Bear -- To Ache Is Human -- Not Polite -- The Film Upon The Eye Mortality's Old Custom -- Just Locking Up -- To Die.

Beauty Is Not The Cause Of Something, It Is What It Is.

Faith Is A Fine Invention When Gentlemen Can See, But Microscopes Are Prudent In An Emergency.

The Soul Unto Itself Is An Imperial Friend, - Or The Most Agonizing Spy - An Enemy - Could Send -

Finite To Fail, But Infinite To Venture.