When I got enough confidence, the stage was gone. When I was sure of losing, I won. When I needed people the most, they left me. When I learnt to dry my tears, I found a shoulder to cry on. And when I mastered the art of hating, somebody started loving me.

Away, you mouldy rogue, away!

You are not wood, you are not stones, but men.

Melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.

What else may hap, to time I will commit.

For what good turn? Messenger: For the best turn of the bed.

Dream in light years, challenge miles, walk step by step