Love me little, love me long.
All places are alike, and every earth is fit for burial.
That perfect bliss and sole felicity, the sweet fruition of an earthly crown.
Virtue is the fount whence honour springs.
... when all the world dissolves, And every creature shall be purified, All places shall be hell that are not heaven.
Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, and burnt the topless towers of Ileum?