Love is a child that talks in broken language, yet then he speaks most plain.
The good we have enjoyed from Heaven's free will, and shall we murmur to endure the ill?
Honor is but an empty bubble.
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.
Forgiveness to the injured does belong; but they ne'er pardon who have done wrong.
A knock-down argument; 'tis but a word and a blow.