Thoughts are but dreams till their effects are tried.

That which is now a horse, even with a thought The rack dislimms, and makes it indistinct As water is in water

The violence of either grief or joy, their own enactures with themselves destroy.

That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no discourse to your beauty.

And what’s he then that says I play the villain?

'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, When not to be, receives reproach of being, And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed, Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing.

The plants look up to heaven, from whence they have their nourishment.