Thou Lump Of Foul Deformity!

Kindness In Women, Not Their Beauteous Looks, Shall Win My Love.

The Moon, Like To A Silver Bow New Bent In Heaven.

Let's Talk Of Graves, Of Worms, And Epitaphs; Make Dust Our Paper, And With Rainy Eyes Write Sorrow On The Bosom Of The Earth.... [w]hat Can We Bequeath, Save Our Deposed Bodies To The Ground?... [n]othing Can We Call Our Own, But Death... [l]et Us Sit Upon The Ground, And Tell Sad Stories Of The Death Of Kings: - How Some Have Been Depos'd, Some Slain In War; Some Haunted By The Ghosts They Have Depos'd.

Your Bait Of Falsehood Takes This Carp Of Truth.

Hereditary Sloth Instructs Me.