Dull sublunary lovers' love (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit Absence, because it doth remove Those things which elemented it.
Enjoyment always has a spoiling, otherwise it cannot be so.
I have done one braver thing than all the Worthies did, and yet a braver thence doth spring, which is, to keep that hid.
Without outward declarations, who can conclude an inward love?
Women are like the arts, forced unto none, Open to all searchers, unprized, if unknown.
As virtuous men pass mildly away, and whisper to their souls to go, whilst some of their sad friends do say, the breath goes now, and some say no.