Thy Wit Is A Very

We Have Some Salt Of Our Youth In Us.

The Moon's An Arrant Thief, And Her Pale Fire She Snatches From The Sun.

Frailty, Thy Name Is Woman!

The Will Is Infinite And The Execution Confin'd, The Desire Is Boundless And The Act A Slave To Limit.

The Liquid Drops Of Tears That You Have Shed Shall Come Again, Transform'd To Orient Pearl, Advantaging Their Loan With Interest Of Ten Times Double Gain Of Happiness.