Tears Water Our Growth.

These Are The Forgeries Of Jealousy; And Never, Since The Middle Summer's Spring, Met We On Hill, In Dale, Forest, Or Mead, By Paved Fountain Or By Rushy Brook, Or In The Beached Margent Of The Sea, To Dance Our Ringlets To The Whistling Wind, But With Thy Brawls Thou Hast Disturbed Our Sport.

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

Neither A Borrower Nor A Lender Be, For Loan Oft Loses Both Itself And Friend, And Borrowing Dulls The Edge Of Husbandry.

He Hath Not Eat Paper, As It Were; He Hath Not Drunk Ink; His Intellect Is Not Replenished; He Is Only An Animal, Only Sensible In The Duller Parts. (shakespeare, Love's Labor's Lost, Iv)

Love's Gentle Spring Doth Always Fresh Remain.