Words Without Thoughts Never To Heaven Go.

Better Three Hours Too Soon Than A Minute Too Late.

What A Deformed Thief This Fashion Is.

Be Still Prepared For Death: And Death Or Life Shall Thereby Be The Sweeter.

I Had Rather Be A Toad, And Live Upon The Vapor Of A Dungeon Than Keep A Corner In The Thing I Love For Others Uses.

Unless Hours Were Cups Of Sack, And Minutes Capons, And Clocks The Tongues Of Bawds, And Dials The Signs Of Leaping-houses, And The Blessed Sun Himself A Fair Hot Wench In Flame-colored Taffeta, I See No Reason Why Thou Shouldst Be So Superfluous To Demand The Time Of The Day.