What Sadness Lengthens Romeo’s Hours?

Fear And Niceness, The Handmaids Of All Women, Or More Truly, Woman Its Pretty Self.

O, Let My Books Be Then The Eloquence And Dumb Presagers Of My Speaking Breast, Who Plead For Love, And Look For Recompense, More Than That Tongue That More Hath More Expressed.

A Golden Mind Stoops Not To Shows Of Dross.

Home-keeping Youth Have Ever Homely Wits.

That Which Hath Made Them Drunk Hath Made Me Bold; What Hath Quenched Them Hath Given Me Fire.