The undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns.

Instead of weeping when a tragedy occurs in a songbird's life, it sings away its grief. I believe we could well follow the pattern of our feathered friends.

Music, moody food Of us that trade in love.

There is no vice so simple but assumes some mark of virtue on his outward parts.

Yield not thy neck To fortunes yoke, but let thy dauntless mind Still ride in triumph over all mischance.

It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover.

Is not the truth the truth?