Better a little chiding than a great deal of heartbreak.

This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet

Constant you are, But yet a woman; and for secrecy, No lady closer; for I well believe Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know.

He does it with better grace, but I do it more natural.

Nature does require her time of preservation, which perforce, I her frail son amongst my brethren mortal, must give my attendance to.

To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.

Why, I can smile and murder whiles I smile, And cry 'content' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face for all occasions