They come together like the Coroner's Inquest, to sit upon the murdered reputations of the week.

Come, come, leave business to idlers, and wisdom to fools: they have need of 'em: wit be my faculty, and pleasure my occupation, and let father Time shake his glass.

Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.

We'll get together this week and get all that wrapped up.

We'll sit down together on Wednesday and we'll see what comes from the talks.

We just really like to sing together at rehearsals every week.