Every cloud engenders not a storm.

I’ll look to like, if looking liking move; But no more deep will I endart mine eye than your consent gives strength to make it fly.

This fellow is wise enough to play the fool; And to do that well craves a kind of wit: He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time, And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye. This is a practise As full of labour as a wise man's art For folly that he wisely shows is fit; But wise men, folly-fall'n, quite taint their wit.

Two women placed together makes cold weather.

Fair, kind, and true, have often lived alone.

Bid the dishonest man mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest.

Ay, Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.