And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.
How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
Men are April when they woo, December when they wed. Maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives.
When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.
Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
If music be the food of love, play on.
Nothing will come of nothing; we must dare mighty things.
Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?
The course of true love never did run smooth.
We know what we are, but know not what we may be.
Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.
This life, which had been the tomb of his virtue and of his honour, is but a walking shadow; a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
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