To Weep Is To Make Less The

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?

Thank Me No Thankings, Nor Proud Me No Prouds.

The Quality Of Nothing Hath Not Such Need To Hide Itself

I Am Not Yet Of Percy's Mind, The Hotspur Of The North; He That Kills Me Some Six Or Seven Dozen Of Scots As A Breakfast, Washes His Hands, And Says To His Wife, 'fie Upon This Quiet Life! I Want Work.

To Persist In Doing Wrong Extenuates Not The Wrong, But Makes It Much More Heavy.