Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.
Who seeks, and will not take, when once 'tis offer'd, Shall never find it more.
That affable familiar ghost Which nightly gulls him with intelligence.
Hamlet: Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? Ophelia: 'Tis brief, my lord. Hamlet: As woman's love.
Truth is truth to the end of reckoning.
By the apostle Paul, shadows tonight Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers.