Absence From Those We Love

For In That Sleep Of Death What Dreams May Come.

And Nothing Is, But What Is Not.

He Makes A July's Day Short As December.

Then Imitate The Action Of The Tiger; Stiffen The Sinews, Summon Up The Blood.

Hamlet: Lady, Shall I Lie In Your Lap? Ophelia: No, My Lord. Hamlet: Did You Think I Meant Country Matters? Ophelia: I Think Nothing, My Lord. Hamlet: That's A Fair Thought To Lie Between Maids' Legs. Ophelia: What Is, My Lord? Hamlet: Nothing.