The play's the thing.
Refrain to-night; And that shall lend a kind of easiness To the next abstinence, the next more easy; For use almost can change the stamp of nature, And either master the devil or throw him out With wondrous potency.
The tongues of dying men enforce attention like deep harmony.
How soar sweet music is, when time is broke, and no proportion kept!
Nature's tears are reason's merriment.
There should be hours for necessities, not for delights; times to repair our nature with comforting repose, and not for us to waste these times.