If You Be Sick, Your

For He That Once Is Good, Is Ever Great.

If You Be Sick, Your Own Thoughts Make You Sick

All Discourses But My Own Afflict Me; They Seem Harsh, Impertinent, And Irksome

I Remember, The Players Have Often Mentioned It As An Honour To Shakespeare, That In His Writing (whatsoever He Penned) He Never Plotted Out A Line. My Answer Hath Been, Would He Had Blotted A Thousand.

It Is The Highest Of Earthly Honors To Be Descended From The Great And Good. They Alone Cry Out Against A Noble Ancestry Who Have None Of Their Own.