A Sad Tale's Best For Winter. I

This Goodly Frame, The Earth, Seems To Me A Sterile Promontory, This Most Excellent Canopy, The Air, Look You, This Brave O'erhanging Firmament, This Majestical Roof Fretted With Golden Fire, Why, It Appears No Other Thing To Me Than A Foul And Pestilent Congregation Of Vapours. What A Piece Of Work Is A Man! How Noble In Reason! How Infinite In Faculty! In Form And Moving How Express And Admirable! In Action How Like An Angel! In Apprehension How Like A God! The Beauty Of The World! The Paragon Of Animals! And Yet, To Me, What Is This Quintessence Of Dust?

He Capers, He Dances, He Has Eyes Of Youth, He Writes Verses, He Speaks Holiday, He Smells April And May.

Heat Not A Furnace For Your Foe So Hot That It Do Singe Yourself.

Can We Outrun The Heavens?

Policy Sits Above Conscience.