When Love Begins To Sicken

Women Being The Weaker Vessels, Are Ever Thrust To The Walls.

The Web Of Our Life Is Of A Mingled Yarn, Good And Ill Together: Our Virtues Would Be Proud If Our Faults Whipped Them Not; And Our Crimes Would Despair If They Were Not Cherished By Our Own Virtues.

There's No Better Sign Of A Brave Mind Than A Hard Hand.

Ere I Could Make Thee Open Thy White Hand, And Clap Thyself My Love; Then Didst Thou Utter, I Am Your's For Ever!

Every Inordinate Cup Is Unbless'd, And The Ingredient Is A Devil.