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.
Thou unfit for any place but hell.
But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool.
To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.
Get thee to a nunnery.
Keep time! How sour sweet music is when time is broke and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of men's lives. I wasted time and now doth time waste me.