Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? And, live we how we can, yet die we must.
William ShakespeareBut thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
William ShakespeareWere beauty under twenty locks kept fast, yet love breaks through and picks them all at last.
William Shakespeare