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.

But to my mind, though I am native here, And to the manner born, it is a custom, More honored in the breach than the observance.

No legacy is so rich as honesty.

The Play's the Thing, wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King.

Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes.

False face must hide what the false heart doth know.

The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords, in such a just and charitable war.