I do desire we may be better strangers.
The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept.
A woman is a dish for the gods, if the devil dress her not.
The world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.
His life was gentle; and the elements So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN!
A high hope for a low heaven: God grant us patience!