

Feel your pain flowing freely out of your heart and into my hand. — I feel it
It depends on the way we handle it. It’s like a dame
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate…
(Shakespeare, Sonnet 18)
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death…
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
(Shakespeare, Macbeth, V, 5)
—Are they ever going to get the heating fixed?
—They are working at it, Professor. Perhaps some of you scientists would like to give us a helping hand?
Hi, babe. Long time no see.
Lord Tennyyson will have to look for his laurels
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower…
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind.
(Wordsworth)
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass…
… of glory in the flower,
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind.
(Wordsworth)