Honor's Thought Reigns Solely In The Breast

Yet But Three Come One More. Two Of Both Kinds Make Up Four. Ere She Comes Curst And Sad. Cupid Is A Knavish Lad. Thus To Make Poor Females Mad.

If Our Virtues Did Not Go Forth Of Us, It Were All Alike As If We Had Them Not.

When I Have Plucked The Rose, I Cannot Give It Vital Growth Again, It Needs Must Wither. I'll Smell It On The Tree.

Forever, And Forever, Farewell, Cassius! If We Do Meet Again, Why, We Shall Smile; If Not, Why Then This Parting Was Well Made.

This Sanguine Coward, This Bed-presser, This Horseback-breaker, This Huge Hill Of Flesh!