People can die of mere imagination.
A love grown old is not the love once new.
The handsome gifts that fate and nature lend us Most often are the very ones that end us.
It is nought good a sleping hound to wake.
By God, if women had written stories, As clerks had within here oratories, They would have written of men more wickedness Than all the mark of Adam may redress.
Felds hath eyen, and wode have eres.