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.

Love reasons without reason.

For honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a sauce to sugar.

You cannot make gross sins look clear: To revenge is no valour, but to bear.

Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast.

An honest tale speeds best being plainly told.

If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottage princes' palaces.