A Light Heart Lives Long.

Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent.

We May Outrun By Violent Swiftness And Lose By Over-running.

Chain Me With Roaring Bears; Or Shut Me Nightly In A Charnel-house, O'er-covered Quite With Dead Men's Rattling Bones, With Reeky Shanks And Yellow Chapless Skulls; Or Bid Me Go Into A New-made Grave, And Hide Me With A Dead Man In His Shroud; Things That, To Hear Them Told, Have Made Me Tremble; And I Will Do It Without Fear Or Doubt, To Live An Unstain'd Wife Of My Sweet Love.

Wise Men Never Sit And Wail Their Loss, But Cheerily Seek How To Redress Their Harms.

I'll Note You In My Book Of Memory.