I Have Of Late--but Wherefore I Know

Give Me A Bowl Of Wine, In This I Bury All Unkindness.

Travelers Must Be Content.

Why, I Can Smile And Murder Whiles I Smile, And Cry 'content' To That Which Grieves My Heart, And Wet My Cheeks With Artificial Tears, And Frame My Face For All Occasions

Ambition, The Soldier's Virtue.

Sir, In My Heart There Was A Kind Of Fighting That Would Not Let Me Sleep.