You Know That Love Will Creep In

I Cannot Tell What You And Other Men Think Of This Life; But, For My Single Self, I Had As Lief Not Be As Live To Be In Awe Of Such A Thing As I Myself.

Her Father Lov'd Me; Oft Invited Me; Still Question'd Me The Story Of My Life, From Year To Year, The Battles, Sieges, Fortunes, That I Have Pass'd.

The Dullness Of The Fool Is The Whetstone Of The Wits.

The Undiscovered Country From Whose Bourn No Traveler Returns.

Life's But A Walking Shadow, A Poor Player, That Struts And Frets His Hour Upon The Stage, And Then Is Heard No More; It Is A Tale Told By An Idiot, Full Of Sound And Fury, Signifying Nothing.