If it be a sin to covet honor, I am the most offending soul.
Things may serve long, but not serve ever.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
If [God] send me no husband, for the which blessing I am at him upon my knees every morning and evening.
And sleep, that sometime shuts up sorrow's eye, Steal me awhile from mine own company.
There's small choice in rotten apples.