A Courteous, Yet Harrowing Grace, As Guest,

It Is Finished, Is Never Said Of Us

Not To Discover Weakness Is The Artifice Of Strength.

Beauty Crowds Me Till I Die.

Death Is A Supple Suitor, That Wins At Last. It Is A Stealthy Wooing; Conducted First By Pallid Innuendos And Dim Approach, But Brave At Last With Bugles.

It Is Essential To The Sanity Of Mankind That Each One Should Think The Other Crazy - A Condition With Which The Cynicism Of Human Nature So Cordially Complies, One Could Wish It Were A Concurrence Upon A Subject More Noble.