They Are Sick That Surfeit With Too

To Whom God Will, There Be The Victory.

One Pain Is Lessened By Another's Anguish.

Discomfort Guides My Tongue And Bids Me Speak Of Nothing But Despair.

Make Me A Willow Cabin At Your Gate, And Call Upon My Soul Within The House; Write Loyal Cantons Of Contemned Love And Sing Them Loud Even In The Dead Of Night.

This Is No Time To Lend Money, Especially Upon Bare Friendship Without Security.