The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.
“Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.”
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O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!
Come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all unkindness.
Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.