We wound our modesty and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them.
Love is the greatest of dreams, yet the worst of nightmares.
Come the three corners of the world in arms, and we shall shock them.
Ere I could make thee open thy white hand, and clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter, I am your's for ever!
There is a tide in the affairs of men
For naught so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give.