'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, but to support them after.
The expedition of my violent love outrun the pauser, reason.
Let the end try the man.
Give me to drink mandragora.
Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? Or sell eternity to get a toy? For one grape who will the vine destroy?
Glory is like a circle in the water, which never ceaseth to enlarge itself, till, by broad spreading, it disperse to naught.