Worse Than A Bloody Hand Is A

I Have Made My Bed In Charnels And On Coffins, Where Black Death Keeps Record Of The Trophies Won

Man Who Man Would Be, Must Rule The Empire Of Himself.

Duty And Dereliction Guide Thee Back To Solitude.

In A Drama Of The Highest Order There Is Little Food For Censure Or Hatred; It Teaches Rather Self-knowledge And Self-respect.

Let Me Set My Mournful Ditty To A Merry Measure; Thou Wilt Never Come For Pity, Thou Wilt Come For Pleasure; Pity Then Will Cut Away Those Cruel Wings, And Thou Wilt Stay.