Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds.

Tis now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world.

By heaven, I do love: and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be mekancholy.

The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow We are such stuff as dreams are made of.

Do all men kill the things they do not love ............ The quality of mercy is not strain'd It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest It blesseth him that gives and him that takes

What win I, if I gain the thing I seek? A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy. Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? Or sells eternity to get a toy? For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy? Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down?

Give thanks for what you are today and go on fighting for what you gone be tomorrow