O, for an engine, to keep back all clocks, or make the sun forget his motion!
Passions are spiritual rebels and raise sedition against the understanding.
No glass renders a man's form or likeness so true as his speech.
I feel my griefs too, and there scarce is ground Upon my flesh t'inflict another wound. Yet dare I not complain, or wish for death With holy Paul; lest it be thought the breath Of discontent; or that these prayers be For weariness of life, not love of thee.
Hell itself must yield to industry.
Our whole life is like a play.