And in some perfumes there is more delight than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know that music hath a far more pleasing sound.

Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir.

Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's Day, All in the morn betime, And I a maid at your window, To be your valentine.

Appetite, a universal wolf.

My heart is turned to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my hand.

Nothing in his life became him like leaving it.

I am falser than vows made in wine.