Et Tu Brute! (you Too, Brutus!)

Drink, Sir, Is A Great Provoker Of Three Things . . . Nose-painting, Sleep, And Urine. Lechery, Sir, It Provokes, And Unprovokes; It Provokes The Desire, But It Takes Away The Performance.

I Durst Not Laugh For Fear Of Opening My Lips And Receiving The Bad Air.

There Is A Time In The Affairs Of Men, Which, Taken At The Flood, Leads On To Fortune.

My Soul Is In The Sky.

Had I No Eyes But Ears, My Ears Would Love. That Inward Beauty And Invisible; Or Were I Deaf, Thy Outward Parts Would Move Each Part In Me That Were But Sensible: Though Neither Eyes Nor Ears, To Hear Nor See, Yet Should I Be In Love By Touching Thee. 'say, That The Sense Of Feeling Were Bereft Me, And That I Could Not See, Nor Hear, Nor Touch, And Nothing But The Very Smell Were Left Me, Yet Would My Love To Thee Be Still As Much; For From The Stillitory Of Thy Face Excelling Comes Breath Perfum'd That Breedeth Love By Smelling.