If Wishes Would Prevail With Me, My

There Is Little Choice In A Barrel Of Rotten Apples.

O' Thinkest Thou We Shall Ever Meet Again? I Doubt It Not; And All These Woes Shall Serve For Sweet Discourses In Our Times To Come.

Speak Me Fair In Death.

This Is The Very Ecstasy Of Love, Whose Violent Property Ordoes Itself And Leads The Will To Desperate Undertakings.

Doubt Is A Thief That Often Makes Us Fear To Tread Where We Might Have Won.