I Am As Vigilant As A Cat

It Is Not In The Stars To Hold Our Destiny But In Ourselves.

Poor Desdemona! I Am Glad Thy Father's Dead. Thy Match Was Mortal To Him, And Pure Grief Shore His Old Thread In Twain.

Affection Faints Not Like A Pale-faced Coward, But Then Woos Best When Most His Choice Is Froward.

It Were A Grief So Brief To Part With Thee. Farewell.

Lord, I Could Not Endure A Husband With A Beard On His Face! I Had Rather Lie In The Woolen.