Shakespeare's name, you may depend on it, stands absurdly too high and will go down.
The dew of compassion is a tear.
For a man to become a poet (witness Petrarch and Dante), he must be in love, or miserable.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space.
Christians have burnt each other, quite persuaded. That all the Apostles would have done as they did.
I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me: and to me High mountains are a feeling, but the hum of human cities torture.