The course of true love never did run smooth.
Perseverance, my dear Lord. Keeps honour bright.
Conceal me what I am, and be my aid for such disguise as haply shall become the form of my intent.
Unnatural deeds do breed unnatural troubles.
He hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink; his intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts. (Shakespeare, Love's Labor's Lost, IV)
Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.