Where the bee sucks, there suck I In the cow-slip's bell i lie There I couch when owls do cry

The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.

Silence is the perfect herald of joy.

This rough magic I here abjure and when I have required some heavenly music, which even now I do, to work mine end upon their senses that this airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, bury it certain fathoms in the earth, and deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book.

Boldness be my friend.

Love moderately. Long love doth so. Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. *Love each other in moderation. That is the key to long-lasting love. Too fast is as bad as too slow.*

My language! heavens!I am the best of them that speak this speech. Were I but where 'tis spoken.