one pain is cured by another. catch some new infection in your eye and the poison of the old one would die.

Good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.

When once our grace we have forgot, Nothing goes right.

Though age from folly could not give me freedom, It does from childishness.

Happy thou art not; for what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get; and what thou hast, forgettest.

Melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.

And his unkindness may defeat my life, But never taint my love.