Nothing but man of all envenomed things, doth work upon itself, with inborn stings.
Dull sublunary lovers' love (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit Absence, because it doth remove Those things which elemented it.
My love though silly is more brave.
My world's both parts, and 'o! Both parts must die.
God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice.
There is hook in every benefit, that sticks in his jaws that takes that benefit, and draws him whither the benefactor will.