Brutus, I do observe you now of late: I have not from your eyes that gentleness And show of love as I was wont to have: You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand Over your friend that loves you. Poor Brutus, with himself at war, Forgets the shows of love to other men.

Be to yourself as you would to your friend.

To some kind of men their graces serve them but as enemies.

Oh God! that one might read the book of fate, And see the revolution of the times Make mountains level, and the continent, Weary of solid firmness, melt itself Into the sea.

Dream in light years, challenge miles, walk step by step

I'll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath; Who shuns not to break one will sure crack both.

Ask me no reason why I love you; for though Love use Reason for his physician, he admits him not for his counsellor.