Nothing can be more contemptible than to suppose Public Records to be true.

And I watered it in fears, Night and morning with my tears; And I sunned it with smiles, And with soft deceitful wiles.

For I dance And drink and sing, Till some blind hand Shall brush my wing. If thought is life And strength and breath And the want Of thought is death Then am I A happy fly If I live Or if I die

The eagle never lost so much time as when he submitted to learn of the crow

Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.

I will not cease from mental fight Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand.

The nakedness of woman is the work of God.