If music be the food of love, play on.

The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils.

And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.

Fishes live in the sea, as men do a-land the great ones eat up the little ones.

One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.