Ay, But To Die, And Go We

I Never See Thy Face But I Think Upon Hell-fire.

He Was Not So Much Brain As Earwax

King Henry: But What A Point, My Lord, Your Falcon Made, And What A Pitch She Flew Above The Rest! To See How God In All His Creatures Works! Yea, Man And Birds Are Fain Of Climbing High. Suffolk: No Marvel, An It Like Your Majesty, My Lord Protectors Hawks Do Tower So Well; They Know Their Masters Loves To Be Aloft, And Bears His Thoughts Above His Falcon's Pitch. Gloucester: My Lord, 'tis But A Base Ignoble Mind That Mounts No Higher Than A Bird Can Soar.

Why What A Fool Was I To This Drunken Monster For A God. - Caliban

To Move Wild Laughter In The Throat Of Death? It Cannot Be; It Is Impossible: Mirth Cannot Move A Soul In Agony.