We may outrun By violent swiftness And lose by over-running.

O, how I faint when I of you do write, Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, And in the praise thereof spends all his might To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame.

It is the bright day that brings forth the adder, and that craves wary walking.

Thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows.

More can I bear than you dare execute.

Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't.

Sometimes, less is more.