Travelers Must Be Content.

Is This A Dagger Which I See Before Me, The Handle Toward My Hand? Come, Let Me Clutch Thee. I Have Thee Not, And Yet I See Thee Still. Art Thou Not, Fatal Vision, Sensible To Feeling As To Sight? Or Art Thou But A Dagger Of The Mind, A False Creation, Proceeding From The Heat-oppressed Brain?

Who Can Control His Fate?

I Am Indeed, Sir, A Surgeon To Old Shoes; When They Are In Great Danger I Recover Them.

And Do As Adversaries Do In Law, Strive Mightily, But Eat And Drink As Friends.

He's Mad That Trusts In The Tameness Of A Wolf.