New customs, Though they be never so ridiculous (Nay, let em be unmanly), yet are followed.

Nor age so eat up my invention.

Affection, mistress of passion, sways it to the mood of what it likes or loathes.

Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life.

I have lived long enough. My way of life is to fall into the sere, the yellow leaf, and that which should accompany old age, as honor, love, obedience, troops of friends I must not look to have.

When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.

a young woman in love always looks like patience on a monument smiling at grief