In A False Quarrel There

Well, God's Above All; And There Be Souls Must Be Saved, And There Be Souls Must Not Be Saved.

Most Dangerous Is That Temptation That Doth Goad Us On To Sin In Loving Virtue.

My Way Of Life Is Fall'n Into The Sear And Yellow Leaf.

Every Great Drama Has Its Foreshadow.

Alas, Poor Yorick! I Knew Him, Horatio: A Fellow Of Infinite Jest, Of Most Excellent Fancy: He Hath Borne Me On His Back A Thousand Times; And Now, How Abhorred In My Imagination It Is! My Gorge Rims At It. Here Hung Those Lips That I Have Kissed I Know Not How Oft. Where Be Your Gibes Now? Your Gambols? Your Songs? Your Flashes Of Merriment, That Were Wont To Set The Table On A Roar? Not One Now, To Mock Your Own Grinning? Quite Chap-fallen?