Great Floods Have Flown From Simple Sources.

Do Not Plunge Thyself Too Far In Anger.

A Woman Moved Is Like A Fountain Troubled, Muddy, Ill-seeming, Thick, Bereft Of Beauty.

As You Are Old And Reverend, You Should Be Wise.

Hamlet: Lady, Shall I Lie In Your Lap? Ophelia: No, My Lord. Hamlet: Did You Think I Meant Country Matters? Ophelia: I Think Nothing, My Lord. Hamlet: That's A Fair Thought To Lie Between Maids' Legs. Ophelia: What Is, My Lord? Hamlet: Nothing.

Conceit, More Rich In Matter Than In Words, Brags Of His Substance, Not Of Ornament: They Are But Beggars That Can Count Their Worth; But My True Love Is Grown To Such Excess, I Cannot Sum Up Half My Sum Of Wealth.