Exceeds Man's Might: That Dwells

O God, O God, How Weary, Stale, Flat, And Unprofitable Seem To Me All The Uses Of This World!

Time Goes On Crutches Till Love Have All His Rites.

This Is A Gift That I Have, Simple, Simple; A Foolish Extravagant Spirit Full Of Forms, Figures, Shapes, Objects, Ideas, Apprehensions, Motions, Revolutions; These Are Begot In The Ventricle Of Memory, Nourished In The Womb Of Pia Mater, And Delivered Upon The Mellowing Of Occasion.

April ... Hath Put A Spirit Of Youth In Everything.

Desperate Times Breed Desperate Measures