Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent.

I Can No Other Answer Make, But, Thanks, And Thanks.

When Once Our Grace We Have Forgot, Nothing Goes Right.

Good Words Are Better Than Bad Strokes.

And, Looking On It With Lack-lustre Eye, Says Very Wisely, "it Is Ten O'clock: Thus We May See," Quoth He, "how The World Wags."

Two Stars Keep Not Their Motion In One Sphere.