But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel. William Shakespeare
All the world is a stage, And all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and entrances; Each man in his time plays many parts. See image William Shakespeare
How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world. See image William Shakespeare