O That Men's Ears Should

The Web Of Our Life Is Of A Mingled Yarn, Good And Ill Together: Our Virtues Would Be Proud If Our Faults Whipped Them Not; And Our Crimes Would Despair If They Were Not Cherished By Our Own Virtues.

Thou Hast Her, France; Let Her Be Thine, For We Have No Such Daughter, Nor Shall Ever See That Face Of Hers Again. Therefore Be Gone Without Our Grace, Our Love, Our Benison.

Go To You Bosom: Knock There, And Ask Your Heart What It Doth Know.

I Despised My Arrival On This Earth And I Despise My Departure; It Is A Tragedy.

If The Masses Can Love Without Knowing Why, They Also Hate Without Much Foundation.