Love Is A Wonderful, Terrible Thing

Retire Me To My Milan, Where Every Third Thought Shall Be My Grave.

You Blocks, You Stones, You Worse Than Senseless Things!

Methinks I Am A Prophet New Inspired And Thus, Expiring, Do Foretell Of Him: His Rash Fierce Blaze Of Riot Cannot Last, For Violent Fires Soon Burn Out Themselves; Small Show'rs Last Long, But Sudden Storms Are Short; He Tires Betimes That Spurs Too Fast Betimes; With Eager Feeding Doth Choke The Feeder; Light Vanity, Insatiate Cormorant, Consuming Means, Soon Preys Upon Itself.

I Am Sir Oracle, And When I Ope My Lips, Let No Dog Bark.

Blest Are Those Whose Blood And Judgment Are So Well Commingled, That They Are Not A Pipe For Fortune's Finger To Sound What Stop She Please.