O,speak To Me No More;these Words Like

By The Pricking Of My Thumbs, Something Wicked This Way Comes.

Love Sought Is Good, But Given Unsought, Is Better.

Why, What Should Be The Fear? I Do Not Set My Life At A Pin's Fee.

Reflection Is The Business Of Man; A Sense Of His State Is His First Duty: But Who Remembereth Himself In Joy? Is It Not In Mercy Then That Sorrow Is Allotted Unto Us?

Time Is Like A Fashionable Host That Slightly Shakes His Parting Guest By The Hand, And With His Arm Outstretch'd, As He Would Fly, Grasps In The Comer.