Friendship's the wine of life: but friendship new... is neither strong nor pure.
A death-bed's a detector of the heart.
Let no man trust the first false step of guilt; it hangs upon a precipice, whose steep descent in last perdition ends.
When pain can't bless, heaven quits us in despair.
We wish our names eternally to live; Wild dream! which ne'er had haunted human thought, Had not our natures been eternal too.
Who knows if Shakespeare might not have thought less if he had read more?