All Dark And Comfortless.

If After Every Tempest Come Such Calms, May The Winds Blow Till They Have Waken'd Death!

Fear And Niceness, The Handmaids Of All Women, Or More Truly, Woman Its Pretty Self.

I Can Hardly Forbear Hurling Things At Him.

It Warms The Very Sickness In My Heart, That I Shall Live And Tell Him To His Teeth, "thus Diddest Thou;"

There Is A Time In The Affairs Of Men, Which, Taken At The Flood, Leads On To Fortune.