Dispute Not With Her: She

For God's Sake, Let Us Sit Upon The Ground, And Tell Sad Stories Of The Death Of Kings... All Murdered; For Within The Hollow Crown That Rounds The Mortal Temples Of A King, Keeps Death His Court... And With A Little Pin Bores Through His Castle Wall, And Farewell King!

Silence Is Only Commendable In A Neat's Tongue Dried, And A Maid Not Vendible.

Fortune Reigns In Gifts Of The World.

This Most Excellent Canopy, The Air, Look You, This Brave O-erhanging Firmament, This Majestical Roof Fretted With Golden Fire.

We Know What We Are, But Know Not What We May Be.