And nature must obey necessity.

Inconstancy falls off ere it begins.

Kiss me, Kate, we shall be married o'Sunday

The big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose, In piteous chase.

Oppose not rage while rage is in its force, but give it way a while and let it waste.

No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds?

Happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending.