She's good, being gone.

Sin, that amends, is but patched with virtue.

I do know when the blood burns, how prodigal the soul lends the tongue vows.

Being of no power to make his wishes good: His promises fly so beyond his state That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes For every word.

Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire.

Death is a fearful thing.

A smile cures the wounding of a frown.