Dreams Are The Children Of Idled Minds.

I Must To The Barber's, Monsieur, For Methinks I Am Marvellous Hairy About The Face.

My Endeavors Have Ever Come Too Short Of My Desires. Yet Filed With My Abilities.

To Be Slow In Words Is A Woman's Only Virtue.

As True As Steel, As Plantage To The Moon, As Sun To Day, At Turtle To Her Mate, As Iron To Adamant, As Earth To Centre.

O Ceremony, Show Me But Thy Worth? What Is Thy Soul Of Adoration? Art Thou Aught Else But Place, Degree, And Form, Creating Awe And Fear In Other Men?