Neither A Borrower Nor A Lender Be.

Time And The Hour Run Through The Roughest Day.

This Thought Is As A Death.

Some Are Born Great, Some Achieve Greatness, And Some Have Greatness Thrust Upon Them.

Unless Hours Were Cups Of Sack, And Minutes Capons, And Clocks The Tongues Of Bawds, And Dials The Signs Of Leaping-houses, And The Blessed Sun Himself A Fair Hot Wench In Flame-colored Taffeta, I See No Reason Why Thou Shouldst Be So Superfluous To Demand The Time Of The Day.

Silence Is The Perfect Herald Of Joy.