Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs; being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears; what is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall, and a preserving sweet.

Yet but three come one more. Two of both kinds make up four. Ere she comes curst and sad. Cupid is a knavish lad. Thus to make poor females mad.

Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.

When the sea was calm all ships alike showed mastership in floating.

When love begins to sicken and decay it uses an enforced ceremony.

Things without all remedy should be without regard: what's done is done.

We will meet; and there we may rehearse most obscenely and courageously.