We that are true lovers run into strange capers.

The jury passing on the prisoner's life may in the sworn twelve have a thief or two guiltier than him they try.

O' thinkest thou we shall ever meet again? I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our times to come.

All offences come from the heart.

What can be happier than for a man, conscious of virtuous acts, and content with liberty, to despise all human affairs?

She is a woman, therefore to be won.

We bring forth weeds when our quick minds lie still.