Good God, The Souls Of All My

Misery Acquaints A Man With Strange Bedfellows.

Here, Thou Incestuous, Murderous, Damned Dane, Drink Off This Potion!

Conscience Doth Make Cowards Of Us All.

When We Mean To Build, We First Survey The Plot, Then Draw The Model; And When We See The Figure Of The House, Then Must We Rate The Cost Of The Erection.

Conscience Is A Blushing, Shamefaced Spirit Than Mutinies In A Man's Bosom; It Fills One Full Of Obstacles.