“I bleed myself to be your drink:Is not the blood of poets—ink?”

“If the skin were parchment and the blows you gave were ink,Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.”

“If there's delight in love, 'Tis when I see that heart, which others bleed for, bleed for me.”

“Let your imagination bleed”

“When the switch fell I could feel it upon my flesh; when it welted and ridged it was my blood that ran, and I would think with each blow of the switch: Now you are aware of me! Now I am something in your secret and selfish life, who have marked your blood with my own for ever and ever.”

“O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, / That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!”

“I'll call for pen and ink and write my mind”