it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance

Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.

I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was.

How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?

It is not vain glory for a man and his glass to confer in his own chamber.

Aand in the end, Having my freedom, boast of nothing else But that I was a journeyman to grief?

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.