Come not between the dragon and his wrath.

Look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under it.

O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!

Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.

A little fire is quickly trodden out, Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench.

What: is the jay more precious than the lark because his feathers are more beautiful?

Omittance is no quittance.