Our two souls therefore which are one, Though I must go, endure not yet A breach, but an expansion, Like gold to airy thinness beat.

No man is an island unto himself.

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

I am a little world made cunningly.

But I do nothing upon myself, and yet I am my own executioner.

Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.

To an incompetent judge I must not lie, but I may be silent; to a competent I must answer.