Our Very Eyes Are Sometimes, Like Our

A Plague On Both Your Houses.

Then Hate Me When Thou Wilt, If Ever, Now.

Are You Sure/that We Are Awake? It Seems To Me/that Yet We Sleep, We Dream

This Goodly Frame, The Earth, Seems To Me A Sterile Promontory.

Ingratitude Is Monstrous; And For The Multitude To Be Ingrateful Were To Make A Monster Of The Multitude; Of Which We Being Members, Should Bring Ourselves To Be Monstrous Members.