My father names me Autolycus, who being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles.
Your praises will become your wages.
Conscience is a thousand swords.
Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain.
A smile cures the wounding of a frown.
I love you more than word can wield the matter, Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty