The Dog Who Meets With

When We Lose One We Love, Our Bitterest Tears Are Called Forth By The Memory Of Hours When We Loved Not Enough.

The Living Are Just The Dead On Holiday

Sacrifice May Be A Flower That Virtue Will Pluck On Its Road, But It Was Not To Gather This Flower That Virtue Set Forth On Its Travels.

Once At A Potent Leader's Voice I Stayed; Once I Went Back When A Good Monarch Prayed; Mortals, Howe'er We Grieve, Howe'er Deplore, The Flying Shadow Will Return No More.

Is Not Every Action Of Hamlet Induced By A Fanatical Impulse, Which Tells Him That Duty Consists In Revenge Alone? And Dose It Need Superhuman Efforts To Recognize That Revenge Never Can Be Duty? I Say Again That Hamlet Thinks Much, But That He Is By No Means Wise.