We Will Draw The Curtain And Show

Love Goes Toward Love.

How Many Cowards Whose Hearts Are All As False As Stairs Of Sand, Wear Yet Upon Their Chins The Beards Of Hercules And Frowning Mars, Who Inward Searched, Have Livers White As Milk!

Rich Honesty Dwells Like A Miser, Sir, In A Poor House; As Your Pearl In Your Foul Oyster.

Rosencrantz My Lord, You Must Tell Us Where The Body Is, And Go With Us To The King. Hamlet The Body Is With The King, But The King Is Not With The Body. The King Is A Thing - Guildenstern A Thing My Lord? Hamlet Of Nothing. Bring Me To Him. Hide Fox, And All After!

My Free Drift Halts Not Particularly, But Moves Itself In A Wide Sea Of Wax; No Levelled Malice Infects One Comma In The Course I Hold, But Flies An Eagle Flight, Bold And Forth On, Leaving No Tract Behind.