Thus May Poor Fools Belive

I'll Look To Like; If Looking, Liking Move.

Weary With Toil, I Haste Me To My Bed The Dear Repose For Limbs With Travel Tired; But Then Begins A Journey In My Head To Work My Mind, When Body's Work's Expir'd: For Then My Thoughts-from Far Where I Abide- Intend A Zealous Pilgrimage To Thee, And Keep My Drooping Eyelids Open Wide, Looking On Darkness Which The Blind Do See: Save That My Soul's Imaginary Sight Presents Thy Shadow To My Sightless View, Which, Like A Jewel Hung In Ghastly Night, Makes Black Night Beauteous And Her Old Face New. Lo! Thus, By Day My Limbs, By Night My Mind, For Thee, And For Myself No Quiet Find.

I'll Never Be Such A Gosling To Obey Instinct, But Stand As Is A Man Were Author Of Himself And Knew No Other Kin.

I Am In Blood Stepp'd In So Far, That, Should I Wade No More, Returning Were As Tedious As Go O'er.

Do You See Yonder Cloud That’s Almost In Shape Of A Camel? Polonius: By The Mass, And ‘tis Like A Camel, Indeed. Hamlet: Methinks It Is Like A Weasel. Polonius: It Is Backed Like A Weasel. Hamlet: Or Like A Whale? Polonius: Very Like A Whale.