What Sadness Lengthens Romeo’s Hours?

My Free Drift Halts Not Particularly, But Moves Itself In A Wide Sea Of Wax; No Levelled Malice Infects One Comma In The Course I Hold, But Flies An Eagle Flight, Bold And Forth On, Leaving No Tract Behind.

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.

The Time Is Out Of Joint : O Cursed Spite, That Ever I Was Born To Set It Right!

I Charge Thee, Hence, And Do Not Haunt Me Thus.

More Fools Know Jack Fool Than Jack Fool Knows.