Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's

Light Vanity, Insatiate Cormorant, Consuming Means, Soon Preys Upon Itself.

He Wears The Rose Of Youth Upon Him.

Value Dwells Not In Particular Will; It Holds His Estimate And Dignity As Well Wherein 'tis Precious Of Itself As In The Prizer.

A Very Little Thief Of Occasion Will Rob You Of A Great Deal Of Patience.

Good Lord, For Alliance! Thus Goes Every One To The World But I, And I Am Sunburnt; I May Sit In A Corner And Cry Heigh-ho For A Husband!