Thou And I Are Too Wise To

Oft Have I Heard That Grief Softens The Mind And Makes It Fearful And Degenerate.

Romeo There Is Thy Gold, Worse Poison To Men's Souls, Doing More Murders In This Loathsome World, Than These Poor Compounds That Thou Mayst Not Sell. I Sell Thee Poison; Thou Hast Sold Me None. Farewell: Buy Food, And Get Thyself In Flesh. Come, Cordial And Not Poison, Go With Me To Juliet's Grave; For There Must I Use Thee.

Let Life Be Short, Else Shame Will Be Too Long.

In Such Business Action Is Eloquence, And The Eyes Of Th’ Ignorant More Learned Than The Ears.

Age, I Do Abhor Thee, Youth, I Do Adore Thee.