A Table-full Of Welcome!

The Wind-shak'd Surge, With High And Monstrous Main, Seems To Cast Water On The Burning Bear, And Quench The Guards Of The Ever-fixed Pole.

O Hell! To Choose Love With Another's Eye.

Good Hamlet, Cast Thy Nighted Colour Off ... Do Not For Ever With Thy Vailed Lids Seek For Thy Noble Father In The Dust.

For Who So Firm That Cannot Be Seduced?

Conscience Is A Thousand Swords.