It warms the very sickness in my heart, That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, "Thus diddest thou;"

When I have plucked the rose, I cannot give it vital growth again, It needs must wither. I'll smell it on the tree.

He is well paid that is well satisfied.

How poor are they that have have not patients.

This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, it is a chance which does redeem all sorrows that ever I have felt.

When I got enough confidence, the stage was gone. When I was sure of losing, I won. When I needed people the most, they left me. When I learnt to dry my tears, I found a shoulder to cry on. And when I mastered the art of hating, somebody started loving me.

Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, for wise men say it is the wisest course.