Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs. – William Shakespeare
They are sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing. – William Shakespeare
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs. – William Shakespeare
They are sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing. – William Shakespeare
So did this horse excel a common one
In shape, in courage, color, pace and bone.
…What a horse should have he did not lack,
Save a proud rider on so proud a back. – William Shakespeare