Men Of Few Words Are The Best

Seems," Madam? Nay, It Is; I Know Not "seems." 'tis Not Alone My Inky Cloak, Good Mother, Nor Customary Suits Of Solemn Black, Nor Windy Suspiration Of Forced Breath, No, Nor The Fruitful River In The Eye, Nor The Dejected 'havior Of The Visage, Together With All Forms, Moods, Shapes Of Grief, That Can Denote Me Truly: These Indeed Seem, For They Are Actions That A Man Might Play: But I Have That Within Which Passeth Show; These But The Trappings And The Suits Of Woe.

The Law Hath Not Been Dead, Though It Hath Slept.

I Had Rather Be A Kitten And Cry Mew Than One Of These Same Metre Ballet-mongers.

O Constancy, Be Strong Upon My Side, Set A Huge Mountain 'tween My Heart And Tongue! I Have A Man's Mind, But A Woman's Might.

Heaven Take My Soul, And England Keep My Bones!