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What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns? Alfred Lord Tennyson
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True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air, And more inconstant than the wind, who woos Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his side to the dew-dropping south. William Shakespeare, Romeo & Juliet
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Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. William Shakespeare, Hamlet
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No sooner met but they looked; no sooner looked but they loved; no sooner loved but they sighed; no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason; no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy; and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage... William Shakespeare, As You Like It
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