Weep Not, Sweet Queen, For Trickling Tears

Life's But A Walking Shadow, A Poor Player, That Struts And Frets His Hour Upon The Stage, And Then Is Heard No More; It Is A Tale Told By An Idiot, Full Of Sound And Fury, Signifying Nothing.

Wisdom And Goodness To The Vile Seem Vile; Filths Savour But Themselves.

Fear Not, Cesario, Take Thy Fortunes Up. Be That Thou Know'st Thou Art And Then Thou Art As Great As That Thou Fear'st.

Bid The Dishonest Man Mend Himself; If He Mend, He Is No Longer Dishonest.

To Be Furious, Is To Be Frighted Out Of Fear.