Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well.
Every offense is not a hate at first.
For he was likely, had he been put on, to have proved most royally.
For though the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears.
The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burnt on the water.
Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed.