Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens to the which our wills are gardeners.

I am never merry when I hear sweet music.

With these shreds They vented their complainings, which being answered And a petition granted them, a strange one, To break the heart of generosity, And make bold power look pale, they threw their caps As they would hang them on the horns o' th' moon, Shouting their emulation.

Most dangerous is that temptation that doth goad us on to sin in loving virtue.

The venom clamours of a jealous woman poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.

I will not be sworn but love may transform me to an oyster

Adieu! I have too grieved a heart to take a tedious leave.