I hate ingratitude more in a man than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness, or any taint of vice whose strong corruption inhabits our frail blood".

For such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, ye're so slight.

Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; but, God He knows, thy share thereof is small.

Have I thought long to see this morning’s face, And doth it give me such a sight as this?

He was not so much brain as earwax

The tempter or the tempted, who sins most? Ha! Not she: nor doth she tempt: but it is I That, lying by the violet in the sun, Do as the carrion does, not as the flower, Corrupt with virtuous season.

The Eyes are the window to your soul