It is virtue that gives glory; that will endenizen a man everywhere.

Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine.

I remember, the players have often mentioned it as an honour to Shakespeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he penned) he never plotted out a line. My answer hath been, would he had blotted a thousand.

All concord's born of contraries.

True gladness doth not always speak; joy, bred and born but in the tongue, is weak.

Good men are the stars, the planets of the ages wherein they live, and illustrate the times.

Whosoever loves not picture is injurious to truth, and all the wisdom of poetry. Picture is the invention of heaven, the most ancient and most akin to nature. It is itself a silent work, and always one and the same habit.