Hardness Ever Of Hardness Is Mother.

Hang There Like Fruit, My Soul, Till The Tree Die!

Better A Little Chiding Than A Great Deal Of Heartbreak.

When Remedies Are Past, The Griefs Are Ended By Seeing The Worst, Which Late On Hopes Depended.

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

Blind Is His Love, And Best Befits The Dark.