Coal-black Is Better Than Another Hue In

To Me, Fair Friend, You Never Can Be Old, For As You Were When First Your Eye I Eyed, Such Seems Your Beauty Still. Three Winters Cold Have From The Forests Shook Three Summers' Pride, Three Beauteous Springs To Yellow Autumn Turn'd In Process Of The Seasons Have I Seen, Three April Perfumes In Three Hot Junes Burn'd, Since First I Saw You Fresh, Which Yet Are Green.

I Drink To The General Joy O’ The Whole Table." Macbeth

You Must Confine Yourself Within The Modest Limits Of Order.

The Prize Of All Too Precious You.

Men From Children Nothing Differ.