How Much Better Is It To Weep

Though Now This Grained Face Of Mine Be Hid In Sap-consuming Winter's Drizzled Snow, And All The Conduits Of My Blood Froze Up, Yet Hath My Night Of Life Some Memory, My Wasting Lamps Some Fading Glimmer Left, My Dull Deaf Ears A Little Use To Hear.

Words Spoken Can Not Be Recalled So Think Twice Before You Speak.

Thou Seest We Are Not All Alone Unhappy: This Wide And Universal Theatre Presents More Woeful Pageants Than The Scene Wherein We Play In.

O, My Lord, You Said That Idle Weeds Are Fast In Growth: The Prince My Brother Hath Outgrown Me Far.

The Wound Of Peace Is Surety, Surety Secure.