The province of the soul is large enough to fill up every cranny of your time, and leave you much to answer for if one wretch be damned by your neglect.

My love's a noble madness.

Dead men tell no tales.

Kings fight for empires, madmen for applause.

Having mourned your sin, for outward Eden lost, find paradise within.

He wants worth who dares not praise a foe.

Imitation pleases, because it affords matter for inquiring into the truth or falsehood of imitation, by comparing its likeness or unlikeness with the original.