And his unkindness may defeat my life, But never taint my love.

They say best men are molded out of faults, And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad

POLONIUS: What do you read, my lord? HAMLET: Words, words, words.

Spirits are not finely touched But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence But like a thrifty goddess she determines Herself the glory of a creditor,Both thanks and use.

I praise God for you, sir: your reasons at dinner have been sharp and sententious; pleasant without scurrility, witty without affectation, audacious without impudency, learned without opinion, and strange with-out heresy.

O wretched state! o bosom black as death!

If [God] send me no husband, for the which blessing I am at him upon my knees every morning and evening.