Have more than you show, Speak less than you know.

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.

Here's flowers for you; Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun And with him rises weeping: these are flowers Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age.

Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.

A Devil, a born Devil on whose nature, nurture can never stick, on whom my pain, humanly taken, all lost, quite lost.

Love is like a child, That longs for everything it can come by

But whate'er I am, nor I nor any man that but man is, With nothing shall be pleased 'til he be eased With being nothing.