All Impediments In Fancy's Course Are Motives

The Blood Of Youth Burns Not With Such Excess As Gravity's Revolt To Wantonness.

Base Is The Slave That Pays.

Winter's Not Gone Yet, If The Wild Geese Fly That Way.

I Will Make A Star-chamber Matter Of It.

I Had Rather Chop This Hand Off At A Blow, And With The Other Fling It At Thy Face.