Lend Less Than You Owe.

Poor And Content Is Rich, And Rich Enough.

I Do Know When The Blood Burns, How Prodigal The Soul Lends The Tongue Vows.

Yet This My Comfort: When Your Words Are Done, My Woes End Likewise With The Evening Sun.

An Envious Fever Of Pale And Bloodless Emulation.

Anger's My Meat. I Sup Upon Myself, And So Shall Starve With Feeding.