we are the lords of all eternity

I drink to the general joy o’ the whole table." Macbeth

How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, Their bones with industry.

He that filches from me my good name robs me of that which enriches him and makes me poor indeed.

Many dream not to find, neither deserve, and yet are steeped in favors.

If there be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when we are married and have more occasion to know one another: I hope, upon familiarity will grow more contempt.

Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead are but as pictures: ‘tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil