'Tis expectation makes a blessing dear.
Success is a rare paint, hides all the ugliness.
I prithee send me back my heart, Since I cannot have thine; For if from yours you will not part, Why, then, shouldst thou have mine?
Beauties that from worth arise are like the grace of deities.
Tis love in love that makes the sport.
Joy never feasts so high as when the first course is of misery.