All Our Souls Are Written

To Offend Is My Pleasure; I Love To Be Hated.

All My Laurels You Have Riven Away, And My Roses; Yet In Spite Of You, There Is One Crown I Bear Away With Me... One Thing Without Stain, Unspotted From The World, In Spite Of Doom Mine Own! And That Is... My White Plume.

All Our Souls Are Written In Our Eyes.

Where Lurk Sweet Echoes Of The Dear Homevoices, Each Note Of Which Calls Like A Little Sister, Those Airs Slow, Slow Ascending, As The Smokewreaths Rise From The Hearthstones Of Our Native Hamlets Cyrano Act 5.

I-i Am Going To Be A Storm-a Flame- I Need To Fight Whole Armies Alone; I Have Ten Hearts; I Have A Hundred Arms; I Feel Too Strong To War With Mortals- Bring Me Giants!