Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living.

There's little of the melancholy element in her, my lord: she is never sad but when she sleeps; and not ever sad then; for I have heard my daughter say, she hath often dreamt of unhappiness, and waked herself with laughing.

With these shreds They vented their complainings, which being answered And a petition granted them, a strange one, To break the heart of generosity, And make bold power look pale, they threw their caps As they would hang them on the horns o' th' moon, Shouting their emulation.

Death where is thy sting? Love, where is thy glory?

After your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.

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

He that filches from me my good name robs me of that which enriches him and makes me poor indeed.