To you your father should be as a god.
When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.
Do not spread the compost on the weeds.
Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting That would not let me sleep.
My love is deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, both are infinite.
I and my bosom must debate awhile, and then I would no other company.