It Is Not Night When

The Ides Of March Are Come. Soothsayer: Ay, Caesar; But Not Gone.

Love's Mind Of Judgment Rarely Hath A Taste: Wings And No Eyes Figure Unheedy Haste.

Where The Greater Malady Is Fixed, The Lesser Is Scarce Felt.

Promising Is The Very Air O' The Time; It Opens The Eyes Of Expectation.

Oft Expectation Fails, And Most Oft There Where Most It Promises; And Oft It Hits Where Hope Is Coldest, And Despair Most Fits.