Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.

Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile; Filths savour but themselves.

How many a holy and obsequious tear hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye, as interest of the dead!

The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.

Season your admiration for a while.

Past all shame, so past all truth.

It is not night when I do see your face, Therefore I think I am not in the night; Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company, For you in my respect are all the world: Then how can it be said I am alone, When all the world is here to look on me?