Virgin Me No Virgins! I Must Have

Death Hath A Thousand Doors To Let Out Life.

Be Wise; Soar Not Too High To Fall; But Stoop To Rise.

Revenge, That Thirsty Dropsy Of Our Souls, Makes Us Covet That Which Hurts Us Most.

What Pity 'tis, One That Can Speak So Well, Should In His Actions Be So Ill!

0 Summer Friendship, Whose Flat-tering Leaves Shadowed Us In Our Prosperity, With The Least Gust, Drop Off In The Autumn Of Adversity.