Speak On, But Be Not

There's A Time For All Things.

Tongues I'll Hang On Every Tree That Shall Civil Sayings Show. . . .

A Woman Moved Is Like A Fountain Troubled, Muddy, Ill-seeming, Thick, Bereft Of Beauty.

O War! Thou Son Of Hell!

Gnarling Sorrow Hath Less Power To Bite The Man That Mocks At It And Sets It Light.