Retire Me To My Milan,

Yet This My Comfort: When Your Words Are Done, My Woes End Likewise With The Evening Sun.

Our Very Eyes Are Sometimes, Like Our Judgments, Blind.

Remuneration! O! That's The Latin Word For Three Farthings

He Is Dead And Gone, Lady, He Is Dead And Gone; At His Head A Grass-green Turf, At His Heels A Stone.

Whatever Praises Itself But In The Deed, Devours The Deed In The Praise.