I Do Honor The Very Flea Of

And Where She Went, The Flowers Took Thickest Root, As She Had Sow'd Them With Her Odorous Foot.

I Remember, The Players Have Often Mentioned It As An Honour To Shakespeare, That In His Writing (whatsoever He Penned) He Never Plotted Out A Line. My Answer Hath Been, Would He Had Blotted A Thousand.

Language Most Shows A Man, Speak That I May See Thee.

It Is Virtue That Gives Glory; That Will Endenizen A Man Everywhere.

Memory, Of All The Powers Of The Mind, Is The Most Delicate And Frail.