No man so wise that he may not easily err if he takes no other counsel than his own. He that is taught only by himself has a fool for a master.

The man that is once hated, both his good and his evil deeds oppress him.

Fortune, thou hadst no deity, if men Had wisdom.

I feel my griefs too, and there scarce is ground Upon my flesh t'inflict another wound. Yet dare I not complain, or wish for death With holy Paul; lest it be thought the breath Of discontent; or that these prayers be For weariness of life, not love of thee.

I remember, the players have often mentioned it as an honour to Shakespeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he penned) he never plotted out a line. My answer hath been, would he had blotted a thousand.

The voice so sweet, the words so fair, As some soft chime had stroked the air; And though the sound had parted thence, Still left an echo in the sense.

It is virtue that gives glory; that will endenizen a man everywhere.