My Heart Suspects More Than

I Have No Other But A Woman's Reason: I Think Him So, Because I Think Him So.

He Shall Spurn Fate, Scorn Death, And Bear His Hopes 'bove Wisdom, Grace And Fear: And You All Know, Security Is Mortals' Chiefest Enemy.

Make Me A Willow Cabin At Your Gate, And Call Upon My Soul Within The House; Write Loyal Cantons Of Contemned Love And Sing Them Loud Even In The Dead Of Night.

The Sense Of Death Is Most In Apprehension, And The Poor Beetle, That We Tread Upon, In Corporal Sufferance Finds A Pang As Great As When A Giant Dies.

Corruption Wins Not More Than Honesty.