Present Mirth Hath Present Laughter.

I Have A Bone To Pick With Fate

Oh, Injurious Love, That Respites Me A Life, Whose Very Comfort Is Still A Dying Horror

Temptation Is The Fire That Brings Up The Scum Of The Heart.

He That Will Have A Cake Out Of The Wheat Must Tarry The Grinding. Have I Not Tarried? Ay, The Grinding; But You Must Tarry The Bolting. Have I Not Tarried? Ay, The Bolting; But You Must Tarry The Leavening. Still Have I Tarried. Ay, To The Leavening; But Here's Yet In The Word 'hereafter' The Kneading, The Making Of The Cake, The Heating Of The Oven, And The Baking; Nay, You Must Stay The Cooling Too, Or You May Chance To Burn Your Lips.

They Were Devils Incarnate.