Why, thou owest god a death.
Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat.
The empty vessel makes the loudest sound.
O, let my books be then the eloquence and dumb presages of my speaking breast.
Lawn as white as driven snow; Cyprus black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses.
Do not banish reason for inequality; but let your reason serve to make the truth appear where it seems hid, and hide the false seems true.