I have a kind soul that would give you thanks. And knows not how to do it but with tears.

Their savage eyes turned to a modest gaze by the sweet power of music.

One half of me is yours, the other half is yours, Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, And so all yours.

He that loves to be flattered is worthy o' the flatterer.

The bitter clamor of two eager tongues.

Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying!

I have almost forgotten the taste of fears: The time has been, my senses would have cool’d to hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir as life were in’t: I have supt full with horrors; Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, cannot once start me.