Under loves heavy burden do I sink. --Romeo
The let-alone lies not in your good will.
I am indeed not her fool, but her corrupter of words. (Act III, sc. I, 37-38)
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is slicked o'er with the pale cast of thought
Night's candles have burned out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountaintops." Hope tinged with melancholy - like life.
It is the mind that makes the body rich; and as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, so honor peereth in the meanest habit.