Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own
Can I go forward when my heart is here?
Small things make base men proud.
Prosperity's the very bond of love, Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together Affliction alters.
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
Love is heavy and light, bright and dark, hot and cold, sick and healthy, asleep and awake- its everything except what it is! (Act 1, scene 1)