Good Hamlet, Cast Thy Nighted Colour Off

But 'tis Common Proof, That Lowliness Is Young Ambition's Ladder, Whereto The Climber-upward Turns His Face; But When He Once Attains The Upmost Round, He Then Turns His Back, Looks In The Clouds, Scorning The Vase Defrees By Which He Did Ascend.

The Evil That Men Do Lives After Them; The Good Is Oft Interred With Their Bones.

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 . . .

Their Lips Were Four Red Roses On A Stalk.

I That Please Some, Try All, Both Joy And Terror Of Good And Bad, That Makes And Unfolds Error.