Grief never ends, but it changes. It is a passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness nor a lack of faith: it is the price of love.

There is only one Christ, Jesus, one faith. All else is a dispute over trifles.

I have seen many a man turn his gold into smoke, but you are the first who has turned smoke into gold.

There is an Italian proverb which saith, From my enemy let me defend myself; but from a pretensed friend Lord deliver me

Had I been crested, not cloven, my Lords, you had not treated me thus.

I grieve and dare not show my discontent, I love and yet am forced to seem to hate, I do, yet dare not say I ever meant, I seem stark mute but inwardly do prate. I am and not, I freeze and yet am burned, Since from myself another self I turned. My care is like my shadow in the sun, Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it, Stands and lies by me, doth what I have done.

The word must is not to be used to princes.