A smile cures the wounding of a frown.
And he goes through life, his mouth open, and his mind closed.
. . from this moment The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now, To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done.
Cowards die many times; a brave man dies but once.
Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies.
Never; he will not: Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety: other women cloy The appetites they feed: but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies.