“Order, thou eye of action.”

Shun fear, it is the ague of the soul! a passion man created for himself–for sure that cramp of nature could not dwell in the warm realms of glory.

Reason gains all people by compelling none.

Art, however innocent, looks like deceiving.

The man with but one idea in his head is sure to exaggerate that to top-heaviness, and thus he loses his equilibrium.

First, then, a woman will, or won’t, – depend on’t; If she will do’t, she will; and there’s an end on’t. But, if she won’t, since safe and sound your trust is, Fear is affront: and jealousy injustice.

Joys, which we do not know, we do not wish.

Shame on those breasts of stone that cannot melt in soft adoption of another’s sorrow.

Law that shocks equity is reason’s murderer.

Birth is a shadow. Courage, self-sustained, outlords succession’s phlegm, and needs no ancestors.

Servile doubt argues an impotence of mind, that says we fear because we dare not meet misfortunes.

There is no merit where there is no trial; and till experience stamps the mark of strength, cowards may pass for heroes, and faith for falsehood.

She who means no mischief does it all.

Youth is ever apt to judge in haste, and lose the medium in the wild extreme.

When Christ at Cana’s feast by pow’r divine, Inspir’d cold water, with the warmth of wine, See! cry’d they while, in red’ning tide, it gush’d, The bashful stream hath seen its God and blush’d.

Deceit is the false road to happiness; and all the joys we travel through to vice, like fairy banquets, vanish when we touch them.

Trust me–with women worth the being won, The softest lover ever best succeeds.

Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace Robes loosely flowing, hair as free Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all the adulteries of art: They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

These eyes weren’t made for crying, this love wasn’t made to waste. These arms weren’t made for battle, but to share in your embrace.

Love attacks. It sneaks up like a pride of lions or a pack of hyenas and eats your heart out while you watch.

A prince without letters is a Pilot without eyes. All his government is groping.

I felt his eyes devour me as i moved around the room. He assessed me head to toe without blinking, and a hot ache shivered through me. A kiss would’ve been less intimate.

I do what I’ve trained my whole life to do. I watch the ball. I keep my eye on the ball. I never stop watching. I watch it as it sails past me and lands in the catcher’s mitt, a perfect and glorious strike three.

Well, I will scourge those apes, And to these courteous eyes oppose a mirror, As large as is the stage whereon we act; Where they shall see the time’s deformity Anatomised in every nerve, and sinew, With constant courage, and contempt of fear.

I don’t have any delusions of grandeur or delusions of failure. In terms of my work, I’ve got a pretty cold honest eye.