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Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.
A peace is of the nature of a conquest for then both parties nobly are subdued, and neither party loser.
No, I will be the pattern of all patience I will say nothing.
How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
Fishes live in the sea, as men do a-land the great ones eat up the little ones.
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.
And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils.
If music be the food of love, play on.