Every Why Has A Wherefore.

They That Touch Pitch Will Be Defiled.

I'll Note You In My Book Of Memory.

Adieu, Adieu, Adieu! Remember Me.

Thou Hast Most Traitorously Corrupted The Youth Of The Realm In Erecting A Grammar School.

Leonato Well, Niece, I Hope To See You One Day Fitted With A Husband. Beatrice Not Till God Make Men Of Some Other Metal Than Earth. Would It Not Grieve A Woman To Be Overmastered With A Pierce Of Valiant Dust? To Make An Account Of Her Life To A Clod Of Wayward Marl? No, Uncle, I'll None: Adam's Sons Are My Brethren; And, Truly, I Hold It A Sin To Match In My Kindred.