When words are scarce they are seldom spent in vain.
O, let him pass. He hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer.
Truth will come to sight; murder cannot be hid long.
Falsehood falsehood cures
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.
I had rather live with cheese and garlic in a windmill.