Press Not A Falling Man Too Far;

Let Me Not To The Marriage Of True Minds Admit Impediments. Love Is Not Love Which Alters When It Alteration Finds, Or Bends With The Remover To Remove: O No! It Is An Ever-fixed Mark That Looks On Tempests And Is Never Shaken; It Is The Star To Every Wandering Bark, Whose Worth's Unknown, Although His Height Be Taken. Love's Not Time's Fool, Though Rosy Lips And Cheeks Within His Bending Sickle's Compass Come: Love Alters Not With His Brief Hours And Weeks, But Bears It Out Even To The Edge Of Doom. If This Be Error And Upon Me Proved, I Never Writ, Nor No Man Ever Loved.

What Seest Thou Else In The Dark Backward And Abysm Of Time?

Conceit In Weakest Bodies Works The Strongest.

Out, Damned Spot! Out, I Say!

Sometimes We Are Devils To Ourselves When We Will Tempt The Frailty Of Our Powers, Presuming On Their Changeful Potency.