Dreams Are But Interludes, Which

Raw In The Fields The Rude Militia Swarms, Mouth Without Hands; Maintained At Vast Expense, In Peace A Charge, In War A Weak Defence.

All, As They Say, That Glitters Is Not Gold.

He Wants Worth Who Dares Not Praise A Foe.

All The Learn'd Are Cowards By Profession.

Parting Is Worse Than Death; It Is Death Of Love!