It can't be Nature, for it is not sense.
Nor waste their sweetness in the desert air.
Whom drink made wits, though nature made them fools.
Little do such men know the toil, the pains, the daily, nightly racking of the brains, to range the thoughts, the matter to digest, to cull fit phrases, and reject the rest.
A joke's a very serious thing.
Patience is sorrow's salve.