We must, therefore, be here as strangers and pilgrims, that we may plainly declare that we seek a city above.
If ever two were one, then surely we. If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.
I wish my Sun may never set, but burn.
I am obnoxious to each carping tongue who says my hand a needle better fits.
Art can do much, but this maxim's most sure/A weak or wounded brain admits no cure.
Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, I here, though there, yet both but one.