You Speak An Infinite Deal Of Nothing.

So Doth The Greater Glory Dim The Less: A Substitute Shines Brightly As A King Until A King Be By.

Things In Motion Sooner Catch The Eye Than What Not Stirs.

Modest Doubt Is Called The Beacon Of The Wise.

Mercy But Murders, Pardoning Those That Kill.

Is This A Dagger Which I See Before Me, The Handle Toward My Hand? Come, Let Me Clutch Thee. I Have Thee Not, And Yet I See Thee Still. Art Thou Not, Fatal Vision, Sensible To Feeling As To Sight? Or Art Thou But A Dagger Of The Mind, A False Creation, Proceeding From The Heat-oppressed Brain?