The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils.

That which ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in. and the best of me is diligence.

What are you doing sister? / Killing swine.

There lives within the very flame of love A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it.

If it be a sin to covet honor, I am the most offending soul.

The blood of youth burns not with such excess as gravity's revolt to wantonness.

Some innocents 'scape not the thunderbolt.