God bless thee; and put meekness in thy breast, Love, charity, obedience, and true duty!

The instruments of darkness tell us truths.

Love is . . . a madness most discreet

This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy, this Senior Junior, giant dwarf...Cupid.

Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do.

Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?

The native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; and enterprises of great pitch and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.