[Thine] face is not worth sunburning.
My language! heavens!I am the best of them that speak this speech. Were I but where 'tis spoken.
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.
'Tis best to weigh the enemy more mighty than he seems.
Love`s reason`s without reason
I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of entertainment.