The Flea, Though He Kill None, He

Our Critical Day Is Not The Very Day Of Our Death; But The Whole Course Of Our Life.

And Now Good Morrow To Our Waking Souls, Which Watch Not One Another Out Of Fear; For Love, All Love Of Other Sights Controls, And Makes One Little Room, An Everywhere. Let Sea-discoverers To New Worlds Have Gone, Let Maps To Other, Worlds On Worlds Have Shown, Let Us Possess One World, Each Hath One, And Is One.

Since You Would Save None Of Me, I Bury Some Of You.

I Am Two Fools, I Know, For Loving, And For Saying So.

All Occasions Invite His Mercies, And All Times Are His Seasons.