To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans; coy looks, with heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's mirth

Some men there are love not a gaping pig, some that are mad if they behold a cat, and others when the bagpipe sings I the nose cannot contain their urine.

What's gone, and what's past help, Should be past grief.

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.

Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear

If thou art rich, thou art poor; for, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, thou bearest thy heavy riches but a journey, and death unloads thee.

To gild refined gold, to paint the lily... is wasteful and ridiculous excess