Lone Women, Like To Empty Houses, Perish.

I Am Envy, Begotten Of A Chimney-sweeper And An Oyster-wife. I Cannot Read, And Therefore Wish All Books Were Burnt; I Am Lean With Seeing Others Eat - O That There Would Come A Famine Through All The World, That All Might Die, And I Live Alone; Then Thou Should'st See How Fat I Would Be! But Must Thou Sit And I Stand? Come Down, With A Vengeance!

Where Both Deliberate, The Love Is Slight: Who Ever Lov'd, That Lov'd Not At First Sight?

Our Swords Shall Play The Orators For Us.

It Is A Comfort To The Miserable To Have Comrades In Misfortune, But It Is A Poor Comfort After All.

Live And Die In Aristotle's Works.