It Is Silliness To Live When To

This Rough Magic I Here Abjure And When I Have Required Some Heavenly Music, Which Even Now I Do, To Work Mine End Upon Their Senses That This Airy Charm Is For, I'll Break My Staff, Bury It Certain Fathoms In The Earth, And Deeper Than Did Ever Plummet Sound, I'll Drown My Book.

We Do Not Keep The Outward Form Of Order, Where There Is Deep Disorder In The Mind.

Conscience Is A Blushing, Shamefaced Spirit Than Mutinies In A Man's Bosom; It Fills One Full Of Obstacles.

What's Gone, And What's Past Help, Should Be Past Grief.

More Fools Know Jack Fool Than Jack Fool Knows.