They are devastated-ordspråk

All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players; they have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages. (1 dec 2021, as You Like It Act 2, Scene 7)William ShakespeareDalarna

Jag lyssnar alltid på 'NSYNC's Tearin' Up My Heart. Den påminner mig om att använda BH.Britney Spears

I am not a politician; I am at heart a vagabond, a traveler playing a million parts and impossible to be held down by propaganda. (23 jan 2018, efter att ha vunnit sin första Oscar för ”Gasljus”.)Ingrid BergmanKultur

Hockey är en sport för vita män. Basket är en sport för svarta män. Golf är en sport för vita män klädda som svarta hallickar.Tiger WoodsGolf

“The Satanic Verses” is an artistic work of fiction, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental. (23 aug 2023, 1980-talet; Kontroversen kring boken "Satansverserna" ledde till en fatwa mot författaren och globala protester.)Salman RushdieUtomlands

Den ädle ställer krav på sig själv, den simple ställer krav på andra.KonfuciusSjälv och Andra

To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles And by opposing end them. To die—to sleep, No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause: there's the respect That makes calamity of long life; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay, The insolence of office and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pitch and moment With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action. (1 dec 2021, hamlet Act 3, Scene 1)William ShakespeareDalarna