No Profit Grows Where No Pleasure Is

I Will Instruct My Sorrows To Be Proud; For Grief Is Proud, And Makes His Owner Stoop.

[thine] Face Is Not Worth Sunburning.

An Envious Fever Of Pale And Bloodless Emulation.

Give Me Mine Angle, We'll To Th' River: There, My Music Playing Far Off, I Will Betray Tawny-finned Fishes. My Bended Hook Shall Pierce Their Slimy Jaws; And As I Draw Them Up, I'll Think Them Every One An Antony, And Say, 'ah, Ha! Are Caught!'

I Have Not Slept One Wink.