I Shall Laugh Myself To Death At

To Pore Upon A Book, To Seek The Light Of Truth.

There Is No Terror, Cassius, In Your Threats, For I Am Armed So Strong In Honesty That They Pass By Me As The Idle Wind

Thou Call'st Me Dog Before Thou Hadst A Cause, But Since I Am A Dog, Beware My Fangs.

When Remedies Are Past, The Griefs Are Ended By Seeing The Worst, Which Late On Hopes Depended. To Mourn A Mischief That Is Past And Gone Is The Next Way To Draw New Mischief On. What Cannot Be Preserved When Fortune Takes, Patience Her Injury A Mockery Makes. The Robb'd That Smiles Steals Something For The Thief; He Robs Himself That Spends A Bootless Grief.

Adversity Makes Strange Bedfellows.