For truth has such a face and such a mien, as to be loved needs only to be seen.
The propriety of thoughts and words, which are the hidden beauties of a play, are but confusedly judged in the vehemence of action.
Honor is but an empty bubble.
They say everything in the world is good for something.
Imitators are but a servile kind of cattle.
Words are but pictures of our thoughts.