... the spring, the summer, The chilling autumn, angry winter, change Their wonted liveries; and the mazed world By their increase, now knows not which is which.

Scorn, at first, makes after-love the more.

Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise.

I and my bosom must debate awhile, and then I would no other company.

Men prize the thing ungained more than it is.

There's nothing in this world can make me joy.

I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom.