O the world is but a word; were it all yours to give it in a breath, how quickly were it gone!
Well, honor is the subject of my story.
The expedition of my violent love outrun the pauser, reason.
All of Creation’s a farce. Man was born as a joke. In his head his reason is buffeted Like wind-blown smoke. Life is a game. Everyone ridicules everyone else. But he who has the last laugh Laughs longest.
Bid me run, and I will strive with things impossible.
Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief