The Eyes Are The Window To Your

Why Are Our Bodies Soft, And Weak, And Smooth But That Our Soft Conditions And Our Hearts Should Well Agree With Our External Parts?

Nothing Comes From Doing Nothing.

I Loved Ophelia. Forty Thousand Brothers Could Not, With All Their Quantity Of Love, Make Up My Sum.

To Mingle Friendship Far Is Mingling Bloods.

So May I, Blind Fortune Leading Me, Miss That Which One Unworthier May Attain, And Die With Grieving.