We make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we were villains by necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion.

A good heart is the sun and the moon; or, rather, the sun and not the moon, for it shines bright and never changes.

Yours is the light by which my spirit's born: - you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.

Omission to do what is necessary Seals a commission to a blank of danger; And danger, like an ague, subtly taints Even then when we sit idly in the sun.

The art of our necessities is strange, That can make vile things precious.

No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose To wage against the emnity o' th' air, To be a comrade with the wolf and owl, Necessity's sharp pinch.