Better three hours too soon, than one hour to late.
Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,' Like the poor cat i' the adage?
Misery makes sport to mock itself.
And he goes through life, his mouth open, and his mind closed.
Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth. O these deliberate fools!
Love like a shadow flies when substance love pursues Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.