By The Pricking Of My Thumbs, Something

Gratiano Speaks An Infinite Deal Of Nothing, More Than Any Man In All Venice. His Reasons Are As Two Grains Of Wheat Hid In Two Bushels Of Chaff: You Shall Seek All Day Ere You Find Them, And When You Have Them, They Are Not Worth The Search.

Juliet Is The East And I Am The Sun.

This England Never Did, Nor Never Shall, Lie At The Proud Foot Of A Conqueror.

Not Stepping Over The Bounds Of Modesty.

Daffodils, That Come Before The Swallow Dares, And Take The Winds Of March With Beauty.