Bid me run, and I will strive with things impossible.
Inconstancy falls off ere it begins.
Shall I compare thee to a summer day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate... When in eternal lines to time thou growst So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, millions of mischiefs.
Nothing comes from doing nothing.
'Tis brief, my lord...as woman's love.