I hate sleepless nights. Especially when filled with that bittersweet palette of hope and resentment. SO much on my mind. Yet so little to be done. It’s in this still gloom that I am reminded of a sonnet.
When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,