Doth not a man die even in his birth? The breaking of prison is death, and what is our birth, but a breaking of prison?
Thy face is mine eye, and mine is thine.
That which attempts to elevate the ugly to the level of beauty becomes neither; but an obscenity.
All other things to their destruction draw, Only our love hath no decay.
To roam Giddily, and be everywhere but at home, Such freedom doth a banishment become.
There is hook in every benefit, that sticks in his jaws that takes that benefit, and draws him whither the benefactor will.