What's the newest grief? Each minute tunes a new one.
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, Raze out the written troubles of the brain
The pow'r that I have on you is to spare you; The malice towards you to forgive you.
Beauty lives with kindness.
Better a little chiding than a great deal of heartbreak.
Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for you and dote upon the exchange.