Bid me run, and I will strive with things impossible.

“My love is as a fever, longing stillFor that which longer nurseth the disease;F…”

“Still it cried ‘Sleep no more!’ to all the house: ‘Glamis hath murder’d sleep, …”

“Yet here, Laertes? Aboard, aboard, for shame!The wind sits in the shoulder of y…”

“What a terrible era in which idiots govern the blind.”