When words are scarce they are seldom spent in vain.
O powerful love, that in some respects makes a beast a man, in some other, a man a beast.
The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burnt on the water.
Nor shall this peace sleep with her; but as when The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, Her ashes new-create another heir As great in admiration as herself.
The proverb is something musty.
I dreamt my lady came and found me dead . . . . . . . . . . . . And breathed such life with kisses in my lips That I revived and was an emperor.