Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell. Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet Grace must still look so.

The whirligig of time brings in his revenges.

Better a little chiding than a great deal of heartbreak.

As many arrows, loosed several ways, come to one mark...so many a thousand actions, once afoot, end in one purpose.

Within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court.

So well thy words become thee as thy wounds.

Yet but three come one more. Two of both kinds make up four. Ere she comes curst and sad. Cupid is a knavish lad. Thus to make poor females mad.