What's in a name, anyway? That which we call a nose by any other name would still smell.
Reduced Shakespeare Company
[Thou] mad mustachio purple-hued maltworms!
[Thine] face is not worth sunburning.
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.
Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.
Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit.
I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.
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