When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought.

A friend should bear his friend's infirmities.

He thinks too much. Such men are dangerous.

If she lives till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole world.

I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes—and moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle’s.

For many men that stumble at the threshold are well foretold that danger lurks within.

As in a theatre, the eyes of men, after a well-graced actor leaves the stage, are idly bent on him that enters next.