So Distribution Should Undo Excess,

Either Our History Shall With Full Mouth Speak Freely Of Our Acts, Or Else Our Grave, Like Turkish Mute, Shall Have A Tongueless Mouth, Not Worshipped With A Waxen Epitaph.

There's Daggers In Men's Smiles.

You Have But Mistook Me All The While... I Live By Bread Like You, Taste Grief, Feel Want, Need Friends. Conditioned Thus How Can You Call Me King?

All's Well That Ends Well; Still The Fine's The Crown. Whate'er The Course, The End Is The Renown.

It Is A Heretic That Makes The Fire, Not She Which Burns In It.