Well-apparel'd April On The Heel Of Limping

No Matter Where; Of Comfort No Man Speak: Let's Talk Of Graves, Of Worms, And Epitaphs; Make Dust Our Paper And With Rainy Eyes Write Sorrow On The Bosom Of The Earth

Temptation: The Fiend At My Elbow.

Grief Hath Two Tongues; And Never Woman Yet Could Rule Them Both Without Ten Women's Wit.

I Hate The Murderer, Love Him Murdered.

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.