To some kind of men their graces serve them but as enemies.
I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.
O, wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, That has such people in't!
Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustaining.
Thou weedy elf-skinned canker-blossom!
Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead are but as pictures: ‘tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil