My Stars Shine Darkly Over Me

O Polished Perturbation! Golden Care! That Keep'st The Ports Of Slumber Open Wide To Many A Watchful Night.

Truly Thou Art Damned, Like An Ill-roasted Egg, All On One Side.

There Is Throats To Be Cut, And Works To Be Done.

As A Walled Town Is More Worthier Than A Village, So Is The Forehead Of A Married Man More Honorable Than The Bare Brow Of A Bachelor.

The Labor We Delight In Physics [cures] Pain.