You cannot make gross sins look clear: To revenge is no valour, but to bear.

I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.

After your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.

Grief best is pleased with grief's society.

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is slicked o'er with the pale cast of thought

Mine eyes Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart, That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious To have mistrusted her.

The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, which still we thank as love.