The Last Taste Of Sweets Is Sweetest

The Love Of Wicked Men Converts To Fear; That Fear To Hate, And Hate Turns One Or Both To Worthy Danger And Deserved Death.

How Every Fool Can Play Upon The Word!

I Am A Kind Of Burr; I Shall Stick.

Do Not Swear By The Moon, For She Changes Constantly. Then Your Love Would Also Change.

To Die, To Sleep - To Sleep, Perchance To Dream - Ay, There's The Rub, For In This Sleep Of Death What Dreams May Come.