For this relief, much thanks

All things are ready, if our mind be so.

[S]ince brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief.

What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fishlike smell; a kind of not of the newest poor-John. A strange fish!

It warms the very sickness in my heart, That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, "Thus diddest thou;"

Now entertain conjecture of a time When creeping murmur and the poring dark Fills the wide vessel of the universe.

A happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story