Bid me run, and I will strive with things impossible.
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.
No matter where; of comfort no man speak: Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.
For man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion.
God shall be my hope, my stay, my guide and lantern to my feet.
I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die.
I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes – and moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle’s.
When a father gives to his son, both laugh; when a son gives to his father, both cry.
It is a wise father who knows his own child.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds.
As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words.
The golden age is before us, not behind us.
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.
All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.
Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
Never play with the feelings of others. Because you may win the game but the risk is that you will surely lose the person for a life time.
And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot. Take thou what course thou wilt.
Nothing can come of nothing.