Come Not Within The Measure Of My

Virtue Itself Scapes Not Calumnious Strokes.

Full Many A Glorious Morn I Have Seen Flatter The Mountain-tops With Sovereign Eye, Kissing With Golden Face The Meadows Green, Gilding Pale Streams With Heavenly Alchemy.

Polonius: What Do You Read, My Lord? Hamlet: Words, Words, Words.

Where Love Is Great, The Littlest Doubts Are Fear; Where Little Fears Grow Great, Great Love Grows There.

If Little Faults Proceeding On Distemper Shall Not Be Winked At, How Shall We Stretch Our Eye When Capital Crimes, Chewed, Swallowed, And Digested, Appear Before Us?