for my grief's so great That no supporter but the huge firm earth Can hold it up: here I and sorrows sit; Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. (Constance, from King John, Act III, scene 1)

Blessed are the peacemakers on earth.

Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast.

Or art thou but / A dagger of the mind, a false creation, / Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?

A young man married is a man that's marred.

it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance

[Thine] face is not worth sunburning.