Frailty, thy name is woman!

Your face is a book, where men may read strange matters.

Simply the thing that I am shall make me live.

Lay her i' the earth: And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, A ministering angel shall my sister be, When thou liest howling. HAMLET. What, the fair Ophelia! QUEEN GERTRUDE. Sweets to the sweet: farewell!

There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow.

What: is the jay more precious than the lark because his feathers are more beautiful?

No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds?