And his unkindness may defeat my life, But never taint my love.
In struggling with misfortunes lies the true proof of virtue.
Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do.
That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: how the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder! It might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now o'er-reaches; one that would circumvent God, might it not?
The bitter clamor of two eager tongues.
He wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat.