Out, Damned Spot! Out, I Say!

Were't Not For Laughing, I Should Pity Him.

We Wound Our Modesty And Make Foul The Clearness Of Our Deservings, When Of Ourselves We Publish Them.

What Valor Were It, When A Cur Doth Grin, For One To Thrust His Hand Between His Teeth, When He Might Spurn Him With His Foot Away?

Weariness Can Snore Upon The Flint When Resting Sloth Finds The Down Pillow Hard.

A Wild Dedication Of Yourselves To Undiscovered Waters, Undreamed Shores.