Is It Not Strange, That

Trip Over Love, You Can Get Up. Fall In Love And You Fall Forever. Anyone Can Catch Your Eye, But It Takes Someone Special To Catch Your Heart. Love Is A Smoke Made With The Fume Of Sighs.

And Gentlemen In England Now-a-bed Shall Think Themselves Accurs'd They Were Not Here, And Hold Their Manhoods Cheap Whiles Any Speaks That Fought With Us Upon Saint Crispin's Day.

Th Abuse Of Greatness Is When It Disjoins Remorse From Power.

Minutes, Hours, Days, Months, And Years, Pass'd Over To The End They Were Created, Would Bring White Hairs Unto A Quiet Grave. Ah, What A Life Were This!

O, Pardon Me, Thou Bleeding Piece Of Earth, / That I Am Meek And Gentle With These Butchers!