The Man That Hath No Music In

The Amity That Wisdom Knits Not, Folly May Easily Untie.

In Religion, What Damned Error But Some Sober Brow Will Bless It, And Approve It With A Text, Hiding The Grossness With Fair Ornament?

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day? Thou Art More Lovely And More Temperate: Rough Winds Do Shake The Darling Buds Of May, And Summer's Lease Hath All Too Short A Date . . .

Better A Little Chiding Than A Great Deal Of Heartbreak.

My Purpose Is, Indeed, A Horse Of That Color.