If Gold Rusts, What Then Can Iron

A Whetstone Is No Carving Instrument, And Yet It Maketh Sharp The Carving Tool; And If You See My Efforts Wrongly Spent, Eschew That Course And Learn Out Of My School; For Thus The Wise May Profit By The Fool, And Edge His Wit, And Grow More Keen And Wary, For Wisdom Shines Opposed To Its Contrary.

Murder Will Out, This My Conclusion.

In April The Sweet Showers Fall And Pierce The Drought Of March To The Root, And All The Veins Are Bathed In Liquor Of Such Power As Brings About The Engendering Of The Flower.

For I Have Seyn Of A Ful Misty Morwe Folowen Ful Ofte A Myrie Someris Day.

The Life So Brief, The Art So Long In The Learning, The Attempt So Hard, The Conquest So Sharp, The Fearful Joy That Ever Slips Away So Quickly - By All This I Mean Love, Which So Sorely Astounds My Feeling With Its Wondrous Operation, That When I Think Upon It I Scarce Know Whether I Wake Or Sleep.