Be Not Thy Tongue Thy Own Shame's

Women Being The Weaker Vessels, Are Ever Thrust To The Walls.

Be Still Prepared For Death: And Death Or Life Shall Thereby Be The Sweeter.

He That Dies This Year Is Quit For The Next.

Were I The Moor I Would Not Be Iago. In Following Him I Follow But Myself; Heaven Is My Judge, Not I For Love And Duty, But Seeming So For My Peculiar End. For When My Outward Action Doth Demonstrate The Native Act And Figure Of My Heart In Compliment Extern, ’tis Not Long After But I Will Wear My Heart Upon My Sleeve For Daws To Peck At. I Am Not What I Am

Love Asks Me No Questions, And Gives Me Endless Support.