…don’t talk about the future

Her beauty makes
This vault a feasting presence full of light

O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,
That monthly changes in her circled orb,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable

These violent delights have violent ends

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.

How oft when men are at the point of death
Have they been merry! which their keepers call
A lightning before death.

Eyes, look your last!
Arms, take your last embrace!

Seal with a righteous kiss
A dateless bargain to engrossing death!

The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head.

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