Honest men are the soft easy cushions on which knaves repose and fatten.
Justice is lame as well as blind, amongst us.
Shining through tears, like April suns in showers, that labor to overcome the cloud that loads em.
Let us embrace, and from this very moment vow an eternal misery together.
The worst thing an old man can be is a lover.
Could my griefs speak, the tale would have no end.