A heat full of coldness, a sweet full of bitterness, a pain full of pleasantness, which maketh thoughts have eyes and hearts ears, bred by desire, nursed by delight, weaned by jealousy, kill'd by dissembling, buried by ingratitude, and this is love.
It is the disposition of the thought that altered the nature of the thing.
Maydens, be they never so foolyshe, yet beeing fayre they are commonly fortunate.
Whatsoever is in the heart of the sober man, is in the mouth of the drunkard.
Where the countenance is fair, there need no colors.
It is good walking when one hath his horse in hand.