Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content; The quiet mind is richer than a crown. - Robert Greene

Ah, were she pitiful as she is fair,
Or but as mild as she is seeming so,
Then were my hopes greater than my despair,
Then all the world were heaven, nothing woe.

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee;
When thou art old there’s grief enough for thee.

There is an upstart crow, beautified with our feathers, that with his tiger's heart wrapped in a player's hide supposes he is as well able to bombast out a blank verse as the best of you: and being an absolute Johannes Factotum, is in his own conceit the only Shake-scene in a country.