Confusion Now Hath Made His

Love All. Trust A Few. Do Wrong To None. This Above All: To Thine Own Self Be True. No Legacy Is So Rich As Honesty. Brevity Is The Soul Of Wit

Graze On My Lips; And If Those Hills Be Dry, Stray Lower, Where The Pleasant Fountains Lie.

There's Such Divinity Doth Hedge A King That Treason Can But Peep To What It Would.

Doubting Things Go Ill Often Hurts More Than To Be Sure They Do; For Certainties Either Are Past Remedies, Or, Timely Knowing, The Remedy Then Born.

By Being Seldom Seen, I Could Not Stir But Like A Comet I Was Wondered At.