So Full Of Shapes Is Fancy That

Yet Writers Say, As In The Sweetest Bud The Eating Canter Dwells, So Eating Love Inhabits In The Finest Wits Of All.

Best Men Oft Are Moulded Out Of Faults.

Here Comes A Pair Of Very Strange Beasts, Which In All Tongues Are Called Fools.

Gloucester: Yet So Much Is My Poverty Of Spirit, So Mighty And So Many My Defects, As I Had Rather Hide Me From My Greatness, Being A Bark To Brook No Mighty Sea, Than In My Greatness Covet To Be Hid, And In The Vapour Of My Glory Smother'd. But God Be Thanked. . . .

Retire Me To My Milan, Where Every Third Thought Shall Be My Grave.