To Pore Upon A Book, To Seek

April ... Hath Put A Spirit Of Youth In Everything.

From Women's Eyes This Doctrine I Derive: They Sparkle Still The Right Promethean Fire; They Are The Books, The Arts, The Academes, That Show, Contain And Nourish All The World.

Love's Not Time's Fool, Though Rosy Lips And Cheeks Within His Bending Sickle's Compass Come; Love Alters Not With His Brief Hours And Weeks, But Bears It Out Even To The Edge Of Doom. If This Be Error And Upon Me Prov'd, I Never Writ, Nor No Man Ever Lov'd.

I Drink To The General Joy O’ The Whole Table." Macbeth

You Have Too Much Respect Upon The World; They Lose It That Do Buy It With Much Care