Short Time Seems Long In Sorrow's Sharp

There Are A Sort Of Men, Whose Visages Do Cream And Mantle, Like A Standing Pond; And Do A Willful Stillness Entertain, With Purpose To Be Dressed In An Opinion Of Wisdom, Gravity Profound Conceit; As Who Should Say, I Am Sir Oracle, And When I Ope My Lips, Let No Dog Bark!

I Think The Devil Will Not Have Me Damned, Lest The Oil That's In Me Should Set Hell On Fire.

Bid Me Run, And I Will Strive With Things Impossible.

This Blessed Plot, This Earth, This Realm, This England.

Love Is Blind, It Stops Lovers Seeing The Silly Things They Do.