Nothing 'gainst Times Scythe Can Make Defence.

You Cannot Call It Love, For At Your Age The Heyday In The Blood Is Tame

He Reads Much; He Is A Great Observer And He Looks Quite Through The Deeds Of Men: He Loves No Plays, As Thou Dost, Antony; He Hears No Music; Seldom He Smiles, And Smiles In Such A Sort As If He Mock'd Himself And Scorn'd His Spirit That Could Be Moved To Smile At Any Thing. Such Men As He Be Never At Heart's Ease Whiles They Behold A Greater Than Themselves, And Therefore Are They Very Dangerous.

My Life, My Joy, My Food, My Ail The World!

Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow

If Fortune Torments Me, Hope Contents Me.