Few Things Loves Better Than

There's A Divinity That Shapes Our Ends, Rough-hew Them How We Will.

Grim-visaged War Hath Smoothed His Wrinkled Front; And Now, Instead Of Mounting Barbed Steeds To Fright The Souls Of Fearful Adversaries, He Capers Nimbly In A Lady's Chamber To The Lascivious Pleasing Of A Lute.

The Object Of Art Is To Give Life A Shape.

If [god] Send Me No Husband, For The Which Blessing I Am At Him Upon My Knees Every Morning And Evening.

Now He'll Outstare The Lightning. To Be Furious Is To Be Frightened Out Of Fear.