A smile cures the wounding of a frown.

How every fool can play upon the word!

You may my Glories and my State depose, But not my Griefes; still am I King of those.

I can again thy former light restore, Should I repent me: but once put out thy light, Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, I know not where is that Promethean heat That can thy light relume.

The most peerless piece of earth, I think, that e' er the sun shone bright on.

No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself, But by reflection, by some other things.

Heaven would that she these gifts should have, and I to live and die her slave.