I Understand A Fury In Your Words

Now Old Desire Doth In His Deathbed Lie, And Young Affection Gapes To Be His Heir; That Fair For Which Love Groan'd For And Would Die, With Tender Juliet Match'd, Is Now Not Fair.

Let Every Eye Negotiate For Itself And Trust No Agent.

They Say Best Men Are Molded Out Of Faults, And, For The Most, Become Much More The Better For Being A Little Bad

This Wimpled, Whining, Purblind, Wayward Boy, This Senior Junior, Giant Dwarf...cupid.

And What Art Thou, Thou Idol Ceremony? What Kind Of God Art Thou, That Suffer'st More Of Mortal Griefs Than Do Thy Worshippers?