An envious fever of pale and bloodless emulation.
Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds.
I will be free, even to the uttermost, as I please, in words.
Where the bee sucks, there suck I In the cow-slip's bell i lie There I couch when owls do cry
Happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending.
We must follow, not force Providence.