Love Surfeits Not, Lust Like A Glutton

The Peace Of Heaven Is Theirs That Lift Their Swords, In Such A Just And Charitable War.

When The Age Is In, The Wit Is Out

All That Glisters Is Not Gold; Often Have You Heard That Told: Many A Man His Life Hath Sold But My Outside To Behold: Gilded Tombs Do Worms Enfold.

All Pity Choked With Custom Of Fell Deeds.

To Be, Or Not To Be, That Is The Question.