When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.

My hands are of your color, but I shame to wear a heart so white.

Are you sure/That we are awake? It seems to me/That yet we sleep, we dream

Good words are better than bad strokes.

Set honour in one eye and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently.

Barnes are blessings.

My lord, they say five moons were seen to-night-- Four fixed, and the fifth did whirl about The other four in wondrous motion.