More Fools Know Jack Fool Than Jack

I Think Thy Horse Will Sooner Con An Oration Than Thou Learn A Prayer Without Book.

Love's Gentle Spring Doth Always Fresh Remain.

Pray, Love, Remember: And There Is Pansies, That's For Thoughts.

We Are Such Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of.

Let Fame, That All Hunt After In Their Lives, Live Regist'red Upon Our Brazen Tombs And Then Grace Us In The Disgrace Of Death; When, Spite Of Cormorant Devouring Time, Th' Endeavor Of This Present Breath May Buy That Honor Which Shall Bate His Scythe's Keen Edge And Make Us Heirs Of All Eternity.