Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.

Truth hath a quiet breast.

One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.

For 'tis the sport to have the engineer Hoist with his own petar; and't shall go hard But I will delve one yard below their mines And blow them at the moon.

Ay me! for aught that ever I could read, could ever hear by tale or history, the course of true love never did run smooth.

Me, poor man, my library Was dukedom large enough.

Awake, awake, English nobility! Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot.