And his unkindness may defeat my life, But never taint my love.

And send him many years of sunshine days!

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.

So wise so young, they say, do never live long.

For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings.

God shall be my hope, my stay, my guide and lantern to my feet.

If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge.