O, Reason Not The Need!

Romeo There Is Thy Gold, Worse Poison To Men's Souls, Doing More Murders In This Loathsome World, Than These Poor Compounds That Thou Mayst Not Sell. I Sell Thee Poison; Thou Hast Sold Me None. Farewell: Buy Food, And Get Thyself In Flesh. Come, Cordial And Not Poison, Go With Me To Juliet's Grave; For There Must I Use Thee.

Ornament Is But The Guiled Shore To A Most Dangerous Sea.

If They Love They Know Not Why, They Hate Upon No Better Ground, They Hate Upon No Better A Ground

No Villainous Bounty Yet Hath Passed My Heart; Unwisely, Not Ignobly, Have I Given.

What Is Aught But As 'tis Valued?