O Polished Perturbation! Golden Care! That Keep'st

Alas, Sir, How Fell You Besides Your Five Wits?" Malvolio: "fool, There Was Never A Man So Notoriously Abused. I Am As Well In My Wits, Fool, As Thou Art." Feste: "but As Well? Then You Are Mad Indeed, If You Be No Better In You Wits Than A Fool.

All's Well That Ends Well; Still The Fine's The Crown. Whate'er The Course, The End Is The Renown.

So. Lie There, My Art.

To Climb Steep Hills Requires A Slow Pace At First.

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