Woah Is Me To Have Seen What

The Sense Of Death Is Most In Apprehension.

Dissembling Harlot, Thou Art False In All!

When I Have Plucked The Rose, I Cannot Give It Vital Growth Again, It Needs Must Wither. I'll Smell It On The Tree.

No, No; 'tis All Men's Office To Speak Patience To Those That Wring Under The Load Of Sorrow, But No Man's Virtue Nor Sufficiency To Be So Moral When He Shall Endure The Like Himself. Therefore Give Me No Counsel: My Griefs Cry Louder Than Advertisement.

Profit Is A Blessing, If It's Not Stolen.