Blessings of your heart, you brew good ale.
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover.
Wisely weigh our sorrow with our comfort.
My love is thaw'd; Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, bears no impression of the thing it was
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.
Romeo: Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. Mercutio: No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.