I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the North; he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots as a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.

Time ... thou ceaseless lackey to eternity.

Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! *It’s sad. Love looks like a nice thing, but it’s actually very rough when you experience it.*

Experience is by industry achieved, And perfected by the swift course of time.

I do desire we may be better strangers.

Every great drama has its foreshadow.

Up and down, up and down I will lead them up and down I am feared in field in town Goblin, lead them up and down