Truly Thou Art Damned, Like An Ill-roasted

This Sanguine Coward, This Bed-presser, This Horseback-breaker, This Huge Hill Of Flesh!

There Is No Love-broker In The World Can More Prevail In Man's Commendation With Woman Than Report Of Valor.

The Bashful Virgin's Sidelong Looks Of Love, The Matron's Glance That Would Those Looks Reprove.

I Can Hardly Forbear Hurling Things At Him.

O God Of Battles! Steel My Soldiers’ Hearts. Possess Them Not With Fear.