A Young Man Married Is A Man

I Have Full Cause Of Weeping, But This Heart Shall Break Into A Hundred Thousand Flaws Or Ere I'll Weep.

The Last Taste Of Sweets Is Sweetest Last.

Taste Your Legs, Sire: Put Them Into Motion.

You Common Cry Of Curs! Whose Breath I Hate As Reek O' The Rotten Fens, Whose Loves I Prize As The Dead Carcasses Of Unburied Men That Do Corrupt My Air, I Banish You; And Here Remain With Your Uncertainty!

A Woman's Fitness Comes By Fits.