This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

Time's the king of men; he's both their parent, and he is their grave, and gives them what he will, not what they crave.

Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides: Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.

The whirligig of time brings in his revenges.

More fools know Jack Fool than Jack Fool knows.

I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano!