Swift As Shadow, Short As Any Dream

Do All Men Kill The Things They Do Not Love ............ The Quality Of Mercy Is Not Strain'd It Droppeth As The Gentle Rain From Heaven Upon The Place Beneath: It Is Twice Blest It Blesseth Him That Gives And Him That Takes

And, Looking On It With Lack-lustre Eye, Says Very Wisely, "it Is Ten O'clock: Thus We May See," Quoth He, "how The World Wags."

Men Prize The Thing Ungained More Than It Is.

Men Are April When They Woo, December When They Wed.

He That Is Strucken Blind Can Not Forget The Precious Treasure Of His Eyesight Lost.