In vain our labours are, whatsoe'er they be, unless God gives the Benediction.
It is the end that crowns us, not the fight.
Happy is the bride that the sun shines on.
But ne'er the rose without the thorn.
What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve: the sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love.
He loves his bonds who, when the first are broke, Submits his neck into a second yoke.