Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? Or sell eternity to get a toy? For one grape who will the vine destroy?
William ShakespeareHis steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise.
William ShakespeareReputation, reputation, reputation! O, I ha' lost my reputation, I ha' lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial!
William Shakespeare