I'll fight, till from my bones my flesh be hacked.

Give thanks for what you are today and go on fighting for what you gone be tomorrow

Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! *It’s sad. Love looks like a nice thing, but it’s actually very rough when you experience it.*

At Christmas, I no more desire a rose.

Now the melancholy God protect thee, and the tailor make thy garments of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is opal.

Poor and content is rich, and rich enough.

My father names me Autolycus, who being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles.