These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends And

Many A Good Hanging Prevents A Bad Marriage.

Titus Andronicus, My Lord The Emperor Sends Thee This Word, That, If Thou Love Thy Sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, Or Thyself, Old Titus, Or Any One Of You, Chop Off Your Hand And Send It To The King: He For The Same Will Send Thee Hither Both Thy Sons Alive, And That Shall Be The Ransom For Their Fault.

The Gods Are Just, And Of Our Pleasant Vices Make Instruments To Plague Us.

I Have Sounded The Very Base-string Of Humility.

Age Cannot Wither Her, Nor Custom Stale Her Infinite Variety.