Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.

Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.

You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, As full of grief as age; wretched in both.

O God of battles! steel my soldiers’ hearts. Possess them not with fear.

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

This is a way to kill a wife with kindness.

I will speak daggers to her, but use none.