Some Kinds Of Baseness Are Nobly Undergone.

Tell Me Where Is Fancy Bred, Or In The Heart, Or In The Head? How Begot, How Nourished? Reply, Reply. It Is Engend'red In The Eyes, With Gazing Fed, And Fancy Dies In The Cradle Where It Lies.

Better A Witty Fool Than A Foolish Wit.

All The World's A Stage, And All The Men And Women Mearly Players.

It Is Silliness To Live When To Live Is Torment, And Then Have We A Prescription To Die When Death Is Our Physician.

What Should We Speak Of When We Are Old As You? When We Shall Hear The Rain And Wind Beat Dark December? How, In This Our Pinching Cave, Shall We Discourse The Freezing Hours Away?