We can die by it, if not live by love, And if unfit for tombs and hearse Our legend be, it will be fit for verse; And if no peace of chronicle we prove, We'll build in sonnet pretty rooms; As well a well wrought urne becomes The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs.

I do not love a man, except I hate his vices, because those vices are the enemies, and the destruction of that friend whom I love.

There is hook in every benefit, that sticks in his jaws that takes that benefit, and draws him whither the benefactor will.

There is nothing that God hath established in a constant course of nature, and which therefore is done every day, but would seem a Miracle, and exercise our admiration, if it were done but once.

My love though silly is more brave.

Never start with tomorrow to reach eternity. Eternity is not being reached by small steps.

I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I Did, till we loved? were we not weaned till then? But sucked on country pleasures, childishly? Or snorted we in the seven sleepers' den?