The wheel is come full circle.

I have almost forgotten the taste of fears: The time has been, my senses would have cool’d to hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir as life were in’t: I have supt full with horrors; Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, cannot once start me.

Society is no comfort, to one not sociable.

Love is merely a madness.

Good counselors lack no clients.

Speak of me as I am. Nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice.

So we'll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh at gilded butterflies.