Each Substance Of A Grief Has Twenty

Thy Food Is Such As Hath Been Belch'd On By Infected Lungs.

When Heaven Doth Weep, Doth Not The Earth O'erflow? If The Winds Rage, Doth Not The Sea Wax Mad, Threatening The Welkin With His Big-swollen Face?

She Cannot Love, Nor Take No Shape Nor Project Or Affection, She Is So Self-endeared

The Fashion Of The World Is To Avoid Cost, And You Encounter It.

Time Travels At Different Speeds For Different People. I Can Tell You Who Time Strolls For, Who It Trots For, Who It Gallops For, And Who It Stops Cold For.