I...Kisss the tender inward of thy hand.

Women speak two languages - one of which is verbal.

Not proud you have, but thankful that you have. Proud can I never be of what I hate, but thankful even for hate that is meant love.

Like a man made after supper of a cheese-paring: when a' was naked, he was, for all the world, like a forked radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife.

The old folk, time's doting chronicles.

Frame your mind to mirth and merriment which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.

Music can minister to minds diseased, pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, raze out the written troubles of the brain, and with its sweet oblivious antidote, cleanse the full bosom of all perilous stuff that weighs upon the heart.