The breaking of so great a thing should make A greater crack: the round world Should have shook lions into civil streets, And citizens to their dens.

Where the bee sucks, there suck I In the cow-slip's bell i lie There I couch when owls do cry

Instead of weeping when a tragedy occurs in a songbird's life, it sings away its grief. I believe we could well follow the pattern of our feathered friends.

There's an old saying that applies to me: you can't lose a game if you don't play the game. (Act 1, scene 4)

O Death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!

Can one desire too much of a good thing?

Here's flowers for you; Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun And with him rises weeping: these are flowers Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age.