Woman to man Is either a God or a wolfe.
In all our quest of greatness, like wanton boys, whose pastime is their care, we follow after bubbles, blown in the air.
Love mixed with fear is sweetness.
The misery of us, that are born great, We are forced to woo because none dare woo us.
Vain the ambition of kings Who seek by trophies and dead things To leave a living name behind, And weave but nets to catch the wind.
Cowardly dogs bark loudest.