The Flea, Though He Kill

True Joy Is The Earnest Which We Have Of Heaven, It Is The Treasure Of The Soul, And Therefore Should Be Laid In A Safe Place, And Nothing In This World Is Safe To Place It In.

Poetry Is A Counterfeit Creation, And Makes Things That Are Not, As Though They Were

I Observe The Physician With The Same Diligence As The Disease.

Love, All Alike, No Season Knows, Nor Clime, Nor Hours, Days, Months, Which Are The Rags Of Time.

How Much Shall I Be Changed, Before I Am Changed!