They Met So Near With Their Lips

Away, You Trifler! Love! I Love Thee Not, I Care Not For Thee, Kate: This Is No World To Play With Mammets And To Tilt With Lips: We Must Have Bloody Noses And Cracked Crowns.

I May Neither Choose Who I Would, Nor Refuse Who I Dislike; So Is The Will Of A Living Daughter Curbed By The Will Of A Dead Father.

Some Grief Shows Much Of Love, But Much Of Grief Shows Still Some Want Of Wit.

True Hope Is Swift, And Flies With Swallow's Wings.

Is There No Pity Sitting In The Clouds, That Sees Into The Bottom Of My Grief?