To Some Kind Of Men Their Graces

Take But Degree Away, Untune That String, And Hark, What Discord Follows!

Do You See Yonder Cloud That’s Almost In Shape Of A Camel? Polonius: By The Mass, And ‘tis Like A Camel, Indeed. Hamlet: Methinks It Is Like A Weasel. Polonius: It Is Backed Like A Weasel. Hamlet: Or Like A Whale? Polonius: Very Like A Whale.

All Lovers Swear More Performance Than They Are Able, And Yet Reserve An Ability That They Never Perform; Vowing More Than The Perfection Of Ten, And Discharging Less Than The Tenth Part Of One.

He That Is Truly Dedicated To War Hath No Self-love

But I Will Be, A Bridegroom In My Death, And Run Into't As To A Lover's Bed.