Too Much To Know Is To Know

Oh, Injurious Love, That Respites Me A Life, Whose Very Comfort Is Still A Dying Horror

I Will Be Brief. Your Noble Son Is Mad.

Nothing Can Seem Foul To Those Who Win.

Some Smack Of Age In You, Some Relish Of The Saltness Of Time.

A Knot You Are Of Damned Bloodsuckers.