Sometimes When We Are Labeled, When We

This Goodly Frame, The Earth, Seems To Me A Sterile Promontory.

The Glowworm Shows The Matin To Be Near And Gins To Pale His Uneffectual Fire.

Hardness Ever Of Hardness Is Mother.

Do You See Yonder Cloud That’s Almost In Shape Of A Camel? Polonius: By The Mass, And ‘tis Like A Camel, Indeed. Hamlet: Methinks It Is Like A Weasel. Polonius: It Is Backed Like A Weasel. Hamlet: Or Like A Whale? Polonius: Very Like A Whale.

We Should Hold Day With The Antipodes, If You Would Walk In Absence Of The Sun.