Time And Tide Wait For No Man.

In April The Sweet Showers Fall And Pierce The Drought Of March To The Root, And All The Veins Are Bathed In Liquor Of Such Power As Brings About The Engendering Of The Flower.

The Handsome Gifts That Fate And Nature Lend Us Most Often Are The Very Ones That End Us.

That Field Hath Eyen, And The Wood Hath Ears.

That He Is Gentil That Doth Gentil Dedis.

People Can Die Of Mere Imagination.