I am wealthy in my friends.

There is nothing so confining as the prisons of our own perceptions.

O Mistress mine, where are you roaming? O, stay and hear; your true love's coming, That can sing both high and low: Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know. What is love? 'Tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies not plenty; Then, come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure.

For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world, And where thou art not, desolation.

The Play's the Thing, wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King.

He is winding the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike.

The Devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape.