Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy.

He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such as she; And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fullness of perfection lies in him.

I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune.

What is aught but as 'tis valued?

For though the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears.

Now, neighbor confines, purge you of your scum! Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance, revel the night, rob, murder, and commit the oldest sins the newest kind of ways?