Nothing Can Be More Contemptible Than To

Some Are Born To Sweet Delight, Some Are Born To Endless Night.

Why A Tender Curb Upon The Youthful Burning Boy? Why A Little Curtain Of Flesh On The Bed Of Our Desire?

My Silks And Fine Array, My Smiles And Languished Air, By Love Are Driv'n Away And Mournful Lean Despair Brings Me Yew To Deck My Grave: Such End True Lovers Have.

The Weak In Courage Is Strong In Cunning.

I Care Not Whether A Man Is Good Or Evil; All That I Care / Is Whether He Is A Wise Man Or A Fool. Go! Put Off Holiness, / And Put On Intellect.