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.

Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls: Who steals my purse steals trash; ’tis something, nothing; ’twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands; But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed.

All difficulties are easy when they are known.

And he goes through life, his mouth open, and his mind closed.

Tis our fast intent To shake all cares and business from our age, Conferring them on younger strengths, while we Unburdened crawl toward death.

Lord, I could not endure a husband with a beard on his face! I had rather lie in the woolen.

Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words