Other men it is said have seen angels, but I have seen thee and thou art enough.

Can't I another's face commend, Or to her virtues be a friend, But instantly your forehead louers, As if her merit lessen'd yours?

The lot of critics is to be remembered by what they failed to understand.

'Tis now the summer of your youth: time has not cropped the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them.

I'll tell thee what it says; it calls me villain, a treacherous husband, a cruel father, a false brother; one lost to nature and her charities; or to say all in one short word, it calls me - Gamester.

I am rich beyond the dreams of avarice.

Honesty needs no pains to set itself off.