For She Had Eyes And Chose Me.

You Are Not Wood, You Are Not Stones, But Men; And Being Men, Hearing The Will Of Caesar, It Will Inflame You, It Will Make You Mad.

Sometimes, Less Is More.

Good Morrow, Fair Ones; Pray You, If You Know, Where In The Purlieus Of This Forest Stands A Sheep-cote Fenc'd About With Olive Trees?

Ay Me! Sad Hours Seem Long.

Present Fears Are Less Than Horrible Imaginings.