To Stand Against The Deep Dread-bolted Thunder,

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day? Thou Art More Lovely And More Temperate: Rough Winds Do Shake The Darling Buds Of May, And Summer's Lease Hath All Too Short A Date . . .

So Full Of Shapes Is Fancy

Then Hate Me When Thou Wilt, If Ever, Now.

A Fool Thinks Himself To Be Wise, But A Wise Man Knows Himself To Be A Fool.

Beware The Ides Of March.