And he that strives to touch the stars, Oft stumbles at a straw.
Sleep after toil, port after stormy seas, Ease after war, death after life does greatly please.
And all for love, and nothing for reward.
Her angel's face, As the great eye of heaven shined bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place.
What more felicity can fall to creature, than to enjoy delight with liberty?
It is the mind that maketh good of ill, that maketh wretch or happy, rich or poor.
The poets' scrolls will outlive the monuments of stone. Genius survives; all else is claimed by death.
I was promised on a time - to have reason for my rhyme; From that time unto this season, I received nor rhyme nor reason.
He that strives to touch the starts, oft stumbles at a straw.
Gold all is not that doth golden seem.
Each goodly thing is hardest to begin.
