O sir, you are old; nature in you stands on the very verge of her confine; you should be ruled and led by some discretion, that discerns your fate better than you yourself.

Oh, I am fortune's fool!

How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, Their bones with industry.

A great cause of the night is lack of the sun.

Summer's lease hath all too short a date.

Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try.

There is nothing in the world so much like prayer as music is. ~William Shakespeare