As many arrows, loosed several ways, come to one mark...so many a thousand actions, once afoot, end in one purpose.

They are in the very wrath of love, and they will go together. Clubs cannot part them

I count myself in nothing else so happy as in a soul remembering my good Friends

For as a surfeit of the sweetest things The deepest loathing to the stomach brings, Or as tie heresies that men do leave Are hated most of those they did deceive, So thou, my surfeit and my heresy, Of all be hated, but the most of me!

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun

Fortune reigns in gifts of the world.

Let the galled jade wince; our withers are unwrung.