You Will Never Live To My Age

As The Fertilest Ground, Must Be Manured, So Must The Highest Flying Wit Have A Daedalus To Guide Him.

Laughter Almost Ever Cometh Of Things Most Disproportioned To Ourselves And Nature: Delight Hath A Joy In It Either Permanent Or Present; Laughter Hath Only A Scornful Tickling.

Music, I Say, The Most Divine Striker Of The Senses.

Who Shoots At The Mid-day Sun, Though He Be So Sure He Shall Never Hit The Mark, Yet As Sure As He Is, He Shall Shoot Higher Than He Who Aims At A Bush.

Take Thou Of Me, Sweet Pillowes, Sweetest Bed; A Chamber Deafe Of Noise, And Blind Of Light, A Rosie Garland And A Weary Hed.