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For I can raise no money by vile means.
Fishes live in the sea, as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the little ones.
And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
If music be the food of love, play on.
We are time’s subjects, and time bids be gone.
A peace is of the nature of a conquest; for then both parties nobly are subdued, and neither party loser.
Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.
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.
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.