Hold, Or Cut Bowstrings.

Never; He Will Not: Age Cannot Wither Her, Nor Custom Stale Her Infinite Variety: Other Women Cloy The Appetites They Feed: But She Makes Hungry Where Most She Satisfies.

Vaulting Ambition, Which O'erleaps Itself And Falls On The Other Side

Passion Makes The Will Lord Of The Reason.

The Object Of Art Is To Give Life A Shape.

It Is Thyself, Mine Own Self's Better Part; Mine Eye's Clear Eye, My Dear Heart's Dearer Heart; My Food, My Fortune, And My Sweet Hope's Aim, My Sole Earth's Heaven, And My Heaven's Claim.