Here's flowers for you; Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun And with him rises weeping: these are flowers Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age.

To be furious, is to be frighted out of fear.

The fewer men, the greater share of honor.

Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity.

Love`s reason`s without reason

O, teach me how you look, and with what art You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart."-Helena

I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The Genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.