I Hold The World But

Wert Thou As Far As That Vast Shore Washed With The Farthest Sea, I Would Adventure For Such Merchandise.

My Grief Lies All Within, And These External Manners Of Lament Are Merely Shadows To The Unseen Grief That Swells With Silence In The Tortured Soul.

How Use Doth Breed A Habit In A Man.

What Is More Miserable Than Discontent?

But Thought's The Slave Of Life, And Life Time's Fool.