The pow'r that I have on you is to spare you; The malice towards you to forgive you.

Well, God's above all; and there be souls must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved.

Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy: This wide and universal theatre Presents more woeful pageants than the scene Wherein we play in.

Heaven truly knows that thou art false as hell.

In friendship, as in love, we are often happier through our ignorance than our knowledge.

A jest's prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it.

Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered by a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marle?