Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain.
Of all knowledge the wise and good seek most to know themselves.
One good deed dying tongueless Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. Our praises are our wages.
Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothache; but a man that were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he would change places with his officer; for look you, sir, you know not which way you shall go.
Love denied blights the soul we owe to God.
Your praises will become your wages.