There Is Nothing Serious In Mortality

Is This A Dagger Which I See Before Me, The Handle Toward My Hand? Come, Let Me Clutch Thee. I Have Thee Not, And Yet I See Thee Still. Art Thou Not, Fatal Vision, Sensible To Feeling As To Sight? Or Art Thou But A Dagger Of The Mind, A False Creation, Proceeding From The Heat-oppressed Brain?

If Ever Thou Be'st Bound In Thy Scarf And Beaten, Thou Shalt Find What It Is To Be Proud Of Thy Bondage.

I Stalk About Her Door, Like A Strange Soul Upon The Stygian Banks Staying For Waftage.

Haply A Woman's Voice May Do Some Good When Articles Too Nicely Urged Be Stood On.

In Friendship, As In Love, We Are Often Happier Through Our Ignorance Than Our Knowledge.