Good Wine Needs No Bush.

Whatever Praises Itself But In The Deed, Devours The Deed In The Praise.

Fat Paunches Have Lean Pates, And Dainty Bits Make Rich The Ribs, But Backrout Quite The Wits.

Why Then, O Brawling Love! O Loving Hate! O Any Thing, Of Nothing First Create! O Heavy Lightness, Serious Vanity, Misshapen Chaos Of Well-seeming Forms, Feather Of Lead, Bright Smoke, Cold Fire, Sick Health, Still-waking Sleep, That Is Not What It Is! This Love Feel I, That Feel No Love In This.

Better Conquest Never Canst Thou Make Than Arm Thy Constant And Thy Nobler Parts Against Giddy, Loose Suggestions.

An Honest Tale Speeds Best Being Plainly Told.