Though I am young, and cannot tell Either what Death or Love is well, Yet I have heard they both bear darts, And both do aim at human hearts. And then again, I have been told Love wounds with heat, as Death with cold; So that I fear they do but bring Extremes to touch, and mean one thing. As in a ruin we it call One thing to be blown up, or fall; Or to our end like way may have By a flash of lightning, or a wave; So Love’s inflamèd shaft or brand May kill as soon as Death’s cold hand; Except Love’s fires the virtue have To fight the frost out of the grave.

... the best pilots have need of mariners, besides sails, anchor and other tackle.

Nor use too swelling, or ill-sounded words . . . .

Weigh the meaning and look not at the words.

Out of clothes out of countenance, out of countenance out of wit.

They, who know no evil, will suspect none.

Indeed there's a woundy luck in names.