The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.

A light heart lives long.

Let me be boiled to death with melancholy.

O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.

Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty.

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.