Hot Blood Begets Hot Thoughts, And Hot

Vice Repeated Is Like The Wandering Wind, Blows Dust In Others' Eyes To Spread Itself.

Such As We Are Made Of, Such We Be.

We Suffer A Lot The Few Things We Lack And We Enjoy Too Little The Many Things We Have.

But Say, My Lord, It Were Not Regist'red, Methinks The Truth Should Live From Age To Age, As 'twere Retailed To All Posterity, Even To The General All-ending Day.

What The Vengeance, Could He Not Speak 'em Fair?