Presume Not That I Am The Thing

Assume A Virtue, If You Have It Not. That Monster, Custom, Who All Sense Doth Eat; Of Habits Devil, Is Angel Yet In This.

Jesters Do Oft Prove Prophets.

Come, Lady, Die To Live.

For Sweetest Things Turn Sourest By Their Deeds; Lillies That Fester Smell Far Worse Than Weeds.

Time Does Not Have The Same Appeal For Every One