Love’s tongue is in his eyes.

Our acts our angels are, for good or ill, our fatal shadows that walk by us still.

The coward’s weapon, poison.

Drink today, and drown all sorrow; you shall perhaps not do tomorrow.

Go far – too far you cannot, still the farther. The more experience finds you: and go sparing. One meal a week will serve you, and one suit, through all your travels; for you’ll find it certain.

I find the medicine worse than the malady.

Love’s tongue is in his eyes.

Deed, not words shall speak me.

He never is alone that is accompanied with noble thoughts.