All the world's a stage; And all the men and women merely players;; They have their exits and their entrances;; And one man in his time plays many parts; His acts being seven ages. At first the infant; Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;; Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel; And shining morning face, creeping like snail; Unwillingly to school. And then the lover; Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad; Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier; Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard; Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel; Seeking the bubble reputation; Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice; In fair round belly with good capon lin'd; With eyes severe and beard of formal cut; Full of wise saws and modern instances;; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts; Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon; With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;; His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide; For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice; Turning again toward childish treble, pipes; And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all; That ends this strange eventful history; Is second childishness and mere oblivion;; Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything;
A perfectly healthy sentence, it is true, is extremely rare. For the most part we miss the hue and fragrance of the thought; as if we could be satisfied with the dews of the morning or evening without their colors, or the heavens without their azure.
__Henry David Thoreau
Why does a person even get up in the morning? You have breakfast, you floss your teeth so you'll have healthy gums in your old age, and then you get in your car and drive down I-10 and die. Life is so stupid I can't stand it.
__Barbara Kingsolver, Animal Dreams
Men wake up aroused in the morning. We can't help it. We just wake up and we want you. And the women are thinking, "How can he want me the way I look in the morning?" It's because we can't see you. We have no blood anywhere near our optic nerve.