Desperate Times Breed Desperate Measures

Tis Now The Very Witching Time Of Night, When Churchyards Yawn And Hell Itself Breathes Out Contagion To This World.

Passion Makes The Will Lord Of The Reason.

True Apothecary Thy Drugs Art Quick

Thou Art An Elm, My Husband, I A Vine.

I Know No Ways To Mince It In Love, But Directly To Say - I Love You