Sick In The World's Regard, Wretched And

If Fortune Torments Me, Hope Contents Me.

Cease Thy Counsel, For Thy Words Fall Into My Ears As Priceless As Water Into A Seive.

O, Let Me Kiss That Hand! King Lear: Let Me Wipe It First; It Smells Of Mortality.

The Day Shall Not Be Up So Soon As I, To Try The Fair Adventure Of Tomorrow.

To Loathe The Taste Of Sweetness, Whereof Little More Than A Little Is By Much Too Much.