How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
Talking isn't doing. It is a kind of good deed to say well; and yet words are not deeds.
People’s good deeds we write in water. The evil deeds are etched in brass.
Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes: Those scraps are good deeds past, which are devour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon as done.
If one good deed in all my life I did, I do repent it from my very soul.
One good deed dying tongueless Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. Our praises are our wages.
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