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

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

A college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humor. Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epigram?

We may outrun By violent swiftness And lose by over-running.

What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure.

Having nothing, nothing can he lose.

If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark