What Feeds Me Destroys Me.

O Soul, Be Changed Into Little Waterdrops, / And Fall Into The Ocean, Ne'er Be Found!

Infinite Riches In A Little Room.

Hell Hath No Limits, Nor Is Circumscribed In One Self Place, For Where We Are Is Hell, And Where Hell Is There Must We Ever Be.

My Men Like Satyrs Grazing On The Lawns, / Shall With Their Goat-feet Dance An Antic Hay.

It Is A Comfort To The Miserable To Have Comrades In Misfortune, But It Is A Poor Comfort After All.