The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept.

Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell. Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet Grace must still look so.

Of all base passions, fear is the most accursed.

Quote: What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?

He is white-livered and red-faced.

We must not make a scarecrow of the law, Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, And let it keep one shape till custom make it Their perch, and not their terror.

Tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil.