The Object Of Art Is To Give

Die For Adultery! No: The Wren Goes To't, And The Small Gilded Fly Does Lecher In My Sight

You Are Not Wood, You Are Not Stones, But Men.

That But This Blow Might Be The Be-all And The End-all Here, But Here, Upon This Bank And Shoal Of Time, We'ld Jump The Life To Come.

This Look Of Thine Will Hurl My Soul From Heaven.

If Reasons Were As Plentiful As Blackberries, I Would Give No Man A Reason Upon Compulsion.