Damn description, it is always disgusting.

The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.

Man's conscience is the oracle of God.

Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.

Here's a sigh to those who love me,And a smile to those who hate;And, whatever sky's above me,Here's a heart for every fate.

This is to be mortal, And seek the things beyond mortality.

A drop of ink may make a million think.