Eve is a twofold mystery.

Since when was genius found respectable?

Whoever lives true life, will love true love.

This race is never grateful: from the first, One fills their cup at supper with pure wine, Which back they give at cross-time on a sponge, In bitter vinegar.

What monster have we here? A great Deed at this hour of day? A great just deed - and not for pay? Absurd - or insincere?

All actual heroes are essential men, And all men possible heroes.

There Shakespeare, on whose forehead climb The crowns o' the world; oh, eyes sublime With tears and laughter for all time!