Such As We Are Made Of, Such

The Blood Weeps From My Heart When I Do Shape, In Forms Imaginary, Th' Unguided Days And Rotten Times That You Shall Look Upon When I Am Sleeping With My Ancestors.

Let Me Not To The Marriage Of True Minds Admit Impediments: Love Is Not Love Which Alters When It Alteration Finds.

Good Night, Good Night! Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow, That I Shall Say Good Night Till It Be Morrow.

Time Hath, My Lord, A Wallet At His Back Wherein He Puts Alms For Oblivion, A Great-sized Monster Of Ingratitudes: Those Scraps Are Good Deeds Past, Which Are Devour'd As Fast As They Are Made, Forgot As Soon As Done.

How Strange Or Odd Some'er I Bear Myself, As I Perchance Hereafter Shall Think Meet To Put An Antic Disposition On.