Songbird #1

I wonder:

Behind those mountains,

Is sky deep enough

To spread my wings

And have the last laugh?

Play Fools

HENRY BOLINGBROKE
O, who can hold a fire in his hand

By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?

Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite

By bare imagination of a feast?

Or wallow naked in December snow

By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?

O, no! the apprehension of the good

Gives but the greater feeling to the worse:

Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more

Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore.


William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)
English poet and playwright.
Richard II, Act 1, Scene 3