Your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole.

The summer's flower is to the summer sweet Though to itself it only live and die

The force of his own merit makes his way-a gift that heaven gives for him.

My crown is in my heart, not on my head.

Be advised; Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot That it do singe yourself: we may outrun, By violent swiftness, that which we run at, And lose by over-running. Know you not, The fire that mounts the liquor til run o'er, In seeming to augment it wastes it?

Two households, both alike in dignity In fair Verona, where we lay our scene From ancient grudge break to new mutiny Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life Whose misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife.

Though music oft hath such a charm to make bad good, and good provoke to harm.