How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica: look, how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold; There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins. Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.
William ShakespeareHe hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper; for what his heart thinks his tongue speaks.
William ShakespeareHis forward voice now is to speak well of his friend. His backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract.
William Shakespeare