Thou Hast Nor Youth Nor

We Suffer A Lot The Few Things We Lack And We Enjoy Too Little The Many Things We Have.

Love Is . . . A Madness Most Discreet

And Worse I May Be Yet: The Worst Is Not So Long As We Can Say 'this Is The Worst.

Woe To That Land That's Governed By A Child.

Look On Beauty, And You Shall See 'tis Purchased By The Weight; Which Therein Works A Miracle In Nature, Making Them Lightest That Wear Most Of It: So Are Those Crisped Snaky Golden Locks Which Make Such Wanton Gambols With The Wind Upon Supposed Fairness, Often Known To Be The Dowry Of A Second Head, The Skull That Bred Them In The Sepulchre.