What's done is done. The joy is in the doing.

The will is infinite and the execution confin'd, the desire is boundless and the act a slave to limit.

Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that.

Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.

The proverb is something musty.

There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple. If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with't

Time travels at different speeds for different people. I can tell you who time strolls for, who it trots for, who it gallops for, and who it stops cold for.