Related:

• We thinke no greater blisse then such To be as be we would, When blessed none but such as be The same as be they should.
  -- William Warner (1558-1609) -- Albion's England, Book x, Chap. lix, stanza 68...
• Heart on her lips, and soul within her eyes, Soft as her clime, and sunny as her skies.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Beppo, Stanza 45...
• I sometimes think that never blows so red The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled
  That every Hyacinth the Garden wears Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head....
• I sometimes think that never blows so red The Rose as where some buried Cæsar bled
  That every Hyacinth the Garden wears Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head....
• Is Death that woman's mate? /Her/ lips were red, /her/ looks were free, Her locks were yellow as gold
  Her skin was white as leprosy, The Night-Mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she, Who thicks man's blood with cold....
• Which was performed to a T. -- Francis Rabelais (1495-1553) -- Works, Book iv, Chap. xli
• If brains were dynamite, she wouldn't have enough to blow her nose.
• What is a war criminal? Was not war itself a crime against God and humanity, and, therefore, were not all those who sanctioned, engineered, and conducted wars, war criminals?
  War criminals are not confined to the Axis Powers alone....
• Her silent course advance With inoffensive pace, that spinning sleeps On her soft axle.
  -- John Milton (1608-1674) -- Paradise Lost, Book viii, Line 163...