Love is not in our choice but in our fate.
Zeal, the blind conductor of the will.
Love is a child that talks in broken language, yet then he speaks most plain.
He with a graceful pride, While his rider every hand survey'd, Sprung loose, and flew into an escapade; Not moving forward, yet with every bound Pressing, and seeming still to quit his ground.
Prodigious actions may as well be done, by weaver's issue, as the prince's son.
The World to Bacon does not only owe it's present knowledge, but its future too.