Strikes deeper, grows with more pernicious root.
Death, a necessary end, will come when it will come
Tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil.
How soar sweet music is, when time is broke, and no proportion kept!
So are you to my thoughts as food to life, or as sweet seasoned showers are to the ground.
Men are April when they woo, December when they wed. Maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives.