Miracles are ceased; and therefore we must needs admit the means, how things are perfected.

To unpathed waters, undreamed shores.

The blood of youth burns not with such excess as gravity's revolt to wantonness.

The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.

This is the very ecstasy of love.

You told a lie, an odious damned lie; Upon my soul, a lie, a wicked lie.

I can no other answer make, but, thanks, and thanks.