My love is deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, both are infinite.

The trust I have is in mine innocence, and therefore am I bold and resolute.

Well could he ride, and often men would say, "That horse his mettle from his rider takes: Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes!" And controversy hence a question takes, Whether the horse by him became his deed, Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.

A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue.

Sleep knits up the raveled sleeve of care.

O, she misused me past the endurance of a block.

They say miracles are past.