In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. -Sonnet 73

And she's fair I love.

Men from children nothing differ.

We cannot fight for love, as men may do; we shou'd be woo'd, and were not made to woo

I hate the murderer, love him murdered.

'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, When not to be, receives reproach of being, And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed, Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing.

Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog.