Of All The Flowers, Me Thinks A

Our Remedies Oft In Ourselves Do Lie, Which We Ascribe To Heaven.

Good Hamlet, Cast Thy Nighted Colour Off ... Do Not For Ever With Thy Vailed Lids Seek For Thy Noble Father In The Dust.

The Best Is Yet To Come.

He That Has A House To Put's Head In Has A Good Head-piece.

How Ill White Hairs Become A Fool And Jester!