He That Sleeps Feels Not The Tooth-ache

I Am Giddy, Expectation Whirls Me Round. The Imaginary Relish Is So Sweet That It Enchants My Sense.

It Is The Bright Day That Brings Forth The Adder, And That Craves Wary Walking.

Things Are Often Spoke And Seldom Meant.

Beware The Ides Of March.

I Have Seen Roses Damask'd, Red And White, But No Such Roses See I In Her Cheeks.