Truly Thou Art Damned, Like An Ill-roasted

For Youth No Less Becomes The Light And Careless Livery That It Wears, Than Settled Age His Sables, And His Weeds Importing Health And Graveness.

Every Why Hath A Wherefore.

How Much More Doth Beauty Beauteous Seem By That Sweet Ornament Which Truth Doth Give!

The Law Hath Not Been Dead, Though It Hath Slept.

Romeo: Courage, Man; The Hurt Cannot Be Much. Mercutio: No, 'tis Not So Deep As A Well, Nor So Wide As A Church-door; But 'tis Enough, 'twill Serve. Ask For Me Tomorrow, And You Shall Find Me A Grave Man.