These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite. Therefore love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.

We go to gain a little patch of ground that hath in it no profit but the name.

The violence of either grief or joy, their own enactures with themselves destroy.

On Rumor's tongue continual slanders ride.

Put money in thy purse.

For precious friends hid in death's dateless night.

The tempter or the tempted, who sins most? Ha! Not she: nor doth she tempt: but it is I That, lying by the violet in the sun, Do as the carrion does, not as the flower, Corrupt with virtuous season.