For now they kill me with a living death.

Time travels at different speeds for different people. I can tell you who time strolls for, who it trots for, who it gallops for, and who it stops cold for.

Aand in the end, Having my freedom, boast of nothing else But that I was a journeyman to grief?

O, that our fathers would applause our loves, To seal our happiness with hteir consents!

You are a tedious fool.

The head is not more native to the heart.

The hand of little employment hath the daintier sense.