He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.

I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it; knavery cannot, sure, hide himself in such reverence.

Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humor, and like enough to consent.

The rarer action is in virtue than in vengeance.

For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world, And where thou art not, desolation.

So they loved as love in twain Had the essence but in one; Two distinct, divisions none.

Who soars too near the sun, with golden wings, melts them.