To go to bed after midnight is to go to bed betimes

And gentlemen in England now-a-bed Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

A great cause of the night is lack of the sun.

Justice always whirls in equal measure.

Educated men are so impressive.

My joy is death- Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard, Because I wish'd this world's eternity.

There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray you, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's for thoughts. There's fennel for you, and columbines: — there 's rue for you; and here's some for me: — we may call it, herb of grace o'Sundays: — you may wear your rue with a difference. — There's a daisy: — I would give you some violets; but they withered all, when my father died: — They say, he made a good end.