Sighing That Nature Formed But

The Drying Up A Single Tear Has More, Of Honest Fame, Than Shedding Seas Of Gore.

Glory, Like The Phoenix 'midst Her Fires, Exhales Her Odours, Blazes, And Expires.

I Do Detest Everything Which Is Not Perfectly Mutual.

The Place Is Very Well And Quiet And The Children Only Scream In A Low Voice.

There Are Some Feelings Time Cannot Benumb, Nor Torture Shake.