The Nature Of Bad News Affects The

Art Thou Not, Fatal Vision, Sensible To Feelings As To Sight?

Men At Some Time Are Masters Of Their Fates. The Fault, Dear Brutus, Is Not In Our Stars, But In Ourselves, That We Are Underlings.

Thou Whoreson, Senseless Villain!

On Your Eyelids Crown The God Of Sleep, Charming Your Blood With Pleasing Heaviness, Making Such Difference 'twixt Wake And Sleep As Is The Difference Betwixt Day And Night The Hour Before The Heavenly-harness'd Team Begins His Golden Progress In The East.

The Love That Follows Us Sometime Is Our Trouble, Which Still We Thank As Love.