There's Small Choice In Rotten Apples.

It Will Have Blood, They Say; Blood Will Have Blood.

Whose Heart The Accustom'd Sight Of Death Makes Hard.

By Heaven, I Love Thee Better Than Myself

O Polished Perturbation! Golden Care! That Keep'st The Ports Of Slumber Open Wide To Many A Watchful Night.

Your Date Is Better In Your Pie And Your Porridge Than In Your Cheek.