A Plague On Both Your Houses.

Nothing In His Life Became Him Like Leaving It.

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?

My Love Is As A Fever, Longing Still.

I Am Misanthropos, And Hate Mankind, For Thy Part, I Do Wish Thou Wert A Dog, That I Might Love Thee Something.

What? Do I Love Her, That I Desire To Hear Her Speak Again, And Feast Upon Her Eyes