Speak Comfortable Words.

This Is His Uncle's Teaching, This Worcester, Malevolent To You In All Aspects, Which Makes Him Prune Himself And Bristle Up The Crest Of Youth Against Your Dignity.

Are There No Stones In Heaven But What Serves For Thunder?

The Moon's An Arrant Thief, And Her Pale Fire She Snatches From The Sun.

Love Is . . . A Madness Most Discreet

I Have Been Long A Sleeper; But I Trust My Absence Doth Neglect No Great Design Which By My Presence Might Have Been Concluded.