Love and war are the same thing, and stratagems and policy are as allowable in the one as in the other.

Nay, what is worse, perhaps turn poet, which, they say, is an infectious and incurable distemper.

Many go out for wool, and come home shorn themselves.

I am almost frightened out of my seven senses.

Riches are of little avail in many of the calamities to which mankind are liable.

Well-gotten wealth may lose itself, but the ill-gotten loses its master also.

There is no love lost between us.