Death Is A Fearful Thing.

It Is Not Enough To Speak, But To Speak Truee

I Were Better To Be Eaten To Death With A Rust Than To Be Scoured To Nothing With Perpetual Motion.

When Daffodils Begin To Peer, With Heigh! The Doxy, Over The Dale, Why, Then Comes In The Sweet O' The Year; For The Red Blood Reigns In The Winter's Pale. The White Sheet Bleaching On The Hedge, With Heigh! The Sweet Birds, O, How They Sing! Doth Set My Pugging Tooth On Edge; For A Quart Of Ale Is A Dish For A King.

Out Of My Sight! Thou Dost Infect Mine Eyes.

I Am Not Of That Feather, To Shake Off My Friend When He Must Need Me