This Cold Night Will Turn Us All

Out Of My Sight! Thou Dost Infect Mine Eyes.

For There Was Never Yet Philosoper That Could Endure The Toothache Patiently, However They Have Writ The Style Of Gods, And Made A Push At Chance And Sufferance.

I'll Read Enough When I Do See The Very Book Indeed Where All My Sins Are Writ, And That's Myself.

Wrong Hath But Wrong, And Blame The Due Of Blame.

And By That Destiny To Perform An Act Whereof What's Past Is Prologue, What To Come In Yours And My Discharge.