Waste not thy time in windy argument but let the matter drop.

Better a little chiding than a great deal of heartbreak.

Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way.

Women are as roses, whose fair flower, being once displayed, doth fall that very hour.

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.

I'll break my staff, bury it certain fathoms in the earth, and deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book!

There's beggary in love that can be reckoned