The violence of either grief or joy, their own enactures with themselves destroy.
A grandma's name is little less in love than is the doting title of a mother.
This most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o-erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire.
O heaven! were man, But constant, he were perfect.
Every why has a wherefore.
Thou hast nor youth nor age But as it were an after dinner sleep Dreaming of both.