It is ill to marry in the month of May.
O fool, what else is sleep but chill death's likeness?
Judgement of beauty can err, what with the wine and the dark.
That which never has been, never is, and never will be.
Twice does he live who can enjoy the remembrance of the past.
Time glides away and as we get older through the noiseless years; the days flee and are restrained by no reign.