It is the bright day that brings forth the adder, and that craves wary walking.

Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

A good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a black beard will turn white; a curl'd pate will grow bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow: but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon; or, rather, the sun, and not the moon, — for it shines bright, and never changes, but keeps his course truly.

O thou that dost inhabit in my breast, leave not the mansion so long tenantless; lest, growing ruinous, the building fall and leave no memory of what it was!

Love's stories written in love's richest books. To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.

Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak.

Night's candles have burned out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountaintops." Hope tinged with melancholy - like life.