I Am Falser Than Vows Made In

A Sentence Is But A Cheveril Glove To A Good Wit; How Quickly The Wrong Side May Be Turned Outward!

Tell Me, Daughter Juliet, How Stands Your Dispositions To Be Married" It Is An Honor That I Dream Not Of

Good Hay, Sweet Hay, Hath No Fellow.

The Smallest Worm Will Turn Being Trodden On, And Doves Will Peck In Safeguard Of Their Brood.

Death, A Necessary End, Will Come When It Will Come