Is not old wine wholesomest, old pippins toothsomest, old wood burn brightest, old linen wash whitest? Old soldiers, sweethearts, are surest, and old lovers are soundest.

I am Duchess of Malfi still.

In all our quest of greatness, like wanton boys, whose pastime is their care, we follow after bubbles, blown in the air.

When we prohibit others from being different, we end up forfeiting our own right to Liberty.

The soul was never put in the body to stand still.

That friend a great man's ruin strongly checks, who rails into his belief all his defects.

All the damnable degrees Of drinking have you staggered through.