Glory is like a circle in the water
Being daily swallowed by men's eyes, They surfeited with honey and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. So, when he had occasion to be seen, He was but as the cuckoo is in June. Heard, not regarded.
Love does not see with the eyes, but with the soul.
Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind.
There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will.
Men must endure Their going hence, even as their coming hither. Ripeness is all.