To Be Furious, Is To Be Frighted

Women Are Angels, Wooing: Things Won Are Done; Joy's Soul Lies In The Doing: That She Beloved Knows Naught, That Knows Not This-- Men Prize The Thing Ungained More Than It Is.

Brutus, I Do Observe You Now Of Late: I Have Not From Your Eyes That Gentleness And Show Of Love As I Was Wont To Have: You Bear Too Stubborn And Too Strange A Hand Over Your Friend That Loves You. Poor Brutus, With Himself At War, Forgets The Shows Of Love To Other Men.

Though It Be Honest, It Is Never Good To Bring Bad News.

Trust Not My Reading, Nor My Observations, Which With Experimental Seal Do Warrant The Tenor Of My Book.

I Am Misanthropos, And Hate Mankind, For Thy Part, I Do Wish Thou Wert A Dog, That I Might Love Thee Something.