Young Men Mend Not Their

Sleep Is Pain's Easiest Salve, And Doth Fulfil All Offices Of Death, Except To Kill.

That Thou Remember Them, Some Claim As Debt; I Think It Mercy, If Thou Wilt Forget.

When One Man Dies, One Chapter Is Not Torn Out Of The Book, But Translated Into A Better Language.

Licence My Roving Hands, And Let Them Go Before, Behind, Between, Above, Below.

All Other Things To Their Destruction Draw, Only Our Love Hath No Decay.