Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.

I can see he's not in your good books,' said the messenger. 'No, and if he were I would burn my library.

Men prize the thing ungained more than it is.

Many a true word hath been spoken in jest.

That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold; What hath quenched them hath given me fire.

Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.

And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd