Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud; Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, And loathsome canker lies in sweetest bud. All men make faults. 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