O God, O God, How Weary, Stale,

My Mistress' Eyes Are Nothing Like The Sun

There's Daggers In Men's Smiles.

A Scar Nobly Got Is A Good Livery Of Honor.

Men At Some Time Are Masters Of Their Fates. The Fault, Dear Brutus, Is Not In Our Stars, But In Ourselves, That We Are Underlings.

For Man Is A Giddy Thing, And This Is My Conclusion.