If you are for a merry jaunt, I will try, for once, who can foot it farthest.
Heaven be thanked, we live in such an age, When no man dies for love, but on the stage.
All habits gather by unseen degrees.
Seas are the fields of combat for the winds; but when they sweep along some flowery coast, their wings move mildly, and their rage is lost.
Love is a child that talks in broken language, yet then he speaks most plain.
Honor is but an empty bubble.