Th Abuse Of Greatness Is When It

Thou Whoreson Zed! Thou Unnecessary Letter! My Lord, If You Will Give Me Leave, I Will Tread This Unbolted Villain Into Mortar, And Daub The Wall Of A Jakes With Him. *all Cheer For Shakespearean Insults*

Thus Conscience Does Make Cowards Of Us All; And Thus The Native Hue Of Resolution Is Slicked O'er With The Pale Cast Of Thought

Pleasure And Action Make The Hours Seem Short.

Beauty Within Itself Should Not Be Wasted.

Is She Not Passing Fair?