You Speak Like A Green Girl /

Romeo There Is Thy Gold, Worse Poison To Men's Souls, Doing More Murders In This Loathsome World, Than These Poor Compounds That Thou Mayst Not Sell. I Sell Thee Poison; Thou Hast Sold Me None. Farewell: Buy Food, And Get Thyself In Flesh. Come, Cordial And Not Poison, Go With Me To Juliet's Grave; For There Must I Use Thee.

Our Enemies Are Our Outward Consciences.

The Brain May Devise Laws For The Blood, But A Hot Temper Leaps O'er A Cold Decree.

All That Glisters Is Not Gold; Often Have You Heard That Told.

No Profit Grows Where No Pleasure Is Taken.