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

That soul that can reflect upon itself, consider itself, is more than so.

If I lose at play, I blaspheme; if my fellow loses, he blasphemes. So, God is always the loser.

At the round earth's imagined corners, blow your trumpets, angels.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure, then from thee much more, must flow, And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.

Enjoyment always has a spoiling, otherwise it cannot be so.

A bride, before a "Good-night" could be said, Should vanish from her clothes into her bed, As souls from bodies steal, and are not spied. But now she's laid; what though she be? Yet there are more delays, for where is he? He comes and passeth through sphere after sphere; First her sheets, then her arms, then anywhere. Let not this day, then, but this night be thine; Thy day was but the eve to this, O Valentine.