Praising what is lost makes the remembrance dear

CLEOPATRA: If it be love indeed, tell me how much. ANTONY: There's beggary in the love that can be reckoned. CLEOPATRA: I'll set a bourne how far to be belov'd. ANTONY: Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth.

Headstrong liberty is lashed with woe.

Romeo: Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. Mercutio: No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.

If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear.

By Heaven, I love thee better than myself

Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way.