Have More Than You Show, Speak Less

The Last Taste Of Sweets Is Sweetest Last.

When Clouds Are Seen Wise Men Put On Their Cloaks; When Great Leaves Fall Then Winter Is At Hand.

We Waste Our Lights In Vain, Like Lamps By Day.

Too Much Of Water Hast Thou, Poor Ophelia, And Therefore I Forbid My Tears: But Yet It Is Our Trick; Nature Her Custom Holds, Let Shame Say What It Will: When These Are Gone, The Woman Will Be Out. — Adieu, My Lord! I Have A Speech Of Fire, That Fain Would Blaze, But That This Folly Drowns It.

Contention, Like A Horse, Full Of High Feeding, Madly Hath Broke Loose, And Bears Down All Before Him.