There's only one truth about war: people die.

An oyster may be crossed in love.

You write with ease, to show your breeding, But easy writing's vile hard reading.

I ne'er could any lustre see In eyes that would not look on me; I ne'er saw nectar on a lip But where my own did hope to sip.

The quarrel is a very pretty quarrel as it stands - we should only spoil it by trying to explain it.

Those that vow the most are the least sincere.

If I reprehend anything in this world, it is the use of my oracular tongue, and a nice derangement of epitaphs!