Some innocents 'scape not the thunderbolt.
The silence often of pure innocence persuades when speaking fails.
A woman would run through fire and water for such a kind heart.
Gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light.
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire; that mine own tears Do scald like molten lead.