I try to forget what happiness was, and when that don't work, I study the stars.

When he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun.

Study is like the heaven's glorious sun, That will not be deep-searched with saucy looks: Small have continual plodders ever won, Save base authority from others' books.

So study evermore is overshot. While it doth study to have what it would, It doth forget to do the thing it should; And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, 'Tis won as towns with fire; so won, so lost.

(Berowne:) What is the end of study, let me know? (King:) What, that to know which else we should not know. (Berowne:) Things hid and barred, you mean, from common sense? (King:) Ay, that is study's godlike recompense.

I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban. What is your study?