I Almost Die For Food,

Against My Will I Am Sent To Bid You Come In To Dinner. Benedick Fair Beatrice, I Thank You For Your Pains. Beatrice I Took No More Pains For Those Thanks Than You Take Pains To Thank Me: If It Had Been Painful, I Would Not Have Come. Benedick You Take Pleasure Then In The Message? Beatrice Yea, Just So Much As You May Take Upon A Knife's Point ... You Have No Stomach, Signior: Fare You Well. Exit Benedick Ha! 'against My Will I Am Sent To Bid You Come In To Dinner;' There's A Double Meaning In That... (much Ado About Nothing)

Love Moderately. Long Love Doth So. Too Swift Arrives As Tardy As Too Slow. *love Each Other In Moderation. That Is The Key To Long-lasting Love. Too Fast Is As Bad As Too Slow.*

Ay, But To Die And Go We Know Not Where; To Lie In Cold Obstrution And To Rot; This Sensible Warm Motion To Become A Kneaded Clod; And The Delighted Spirit To Bathe In Fiery Floods Or To Reside In Thrilling Regions Of Thick-ribbed Ice; To Be Imprison'd In The Viewless Winds, And Blown With Restless Violence Round About The Pendant World.

Speak The Speech, I Pray You, As I Pronounce It To You, Trippingly On The Tongue; But If You Mouth It, As Many Of Your Players Do, I Had As Lief The Town-crier Spoke My Lines.

Weep Not, Sweet Queen, For Trickling Tears Are Vain.