By Heaven, I'll Make A Ghost Of

Too Much Of Water Hast Thou, Poor Ophelia, And Therefore I Forbid My Tears.

Some Are Born Great, Some Achieve Greatness, And Some Have Greatness Thrust Upon Them.

They Say, The Tongues Of Dying Men Enforce Attention, Like Deep Harmony; Where Words Are Scarce, They're Seldom Spent In Vain; For They Breathe Truth, That Breathe Their Words In Pain.

Robust Grass Endures Mighty Winds; Loyal Ministers Emerge Through Ordeal.

By That Sin Fell The Angels.