A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool.

When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand.

The head is not more native to the heart.

And what’s he then that says I play the villain?

My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel; I know not where I am nor what I do.

I love you more than word can wield the matter, Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty

But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot? Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.