Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.

'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed

Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile

Give me to drink mandragora.

Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.

As he was valiant, I honour him. But as he was ambitious, I slew him.

Poor and content is rich, and rich enough.