Thou Ominous And Fearful Owl Of Death.

Infirm Of Purpose! Give Me The Daggers: The Sleeping And The Dead Are But As Pictures: ‘tis The Eye Of Childhood That Fears A Painted Devil

I Find My Zenith Doth Depend Upon A Most Auspicious Star, Whose Influence If Now I Court Not, But Omit, My Fortunes Will Ever After Droop.

Hold, Or Cut Bowstrings.

Give Thanks For What You Are Today And Go On Fighting For What You Gone Be Tomorrow

But O, How Bitter A Thing It Is To Look Into Happiness Through Another Man's Eyes.