But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.

But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on, Leaving no tract behind.

Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth. O these deliberate fools!

O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil.

He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.

Opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects.

Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful