What can be happier than for a man, conscious of virtuous acts, and content with liberty, to despise all human affairs?
There's daggers in men's smiles.
I am a feather for each wind that blows
I am in blood Stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er.
As I love the name of honour more than I fear death.
Dream in light years, challenge miles, walk step by step