Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find.
What light through yonder window breaks?
Conversation should be pleasant without scurrility, witty without affectation, free without indecency, learned without conceitedness, novel without falsehood.
What is light, if Sylvia be not seen? What is joy if Sylvia be not by?
Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.
Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy.