Peace Is Never More Than

Still May Syllables Jar With Time, Still May Reason War With Rhyme, Resting Never!

Truth Is Man's Proper Good, And The Only Immortal Thing Was Given To Our Mortality To Use.

[the Play] Is Like To Be A Very Conceited Scurvy One, In Plain English.

How Fortune Piles Her Sports When She Begins To Practise Them!

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.