A Victory Is Twice Itself When The

Most Subject Is The Fattest Soil To Weeds.

He Kills Her In Her Own Humor.

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day? Thou Art More Lovely And More Temperate: Rough Winds Do Shake The Darling Buds Of May, And Summer's Lease Hath All Too Short A Date . . .

There's Not A Note Of Mine That's Worth The Noting.

I Dote On His Very Absence.