I wonder that you will still be talking. Nobody marks you.

Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs; being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears; what is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall, and a preserving sweet.

Perseverance... keeps honor bright: to have done, is to hang quite out of fashion, like a rusty nail in monumental mockery.

Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? And, live we how we can, yet die we must.

Exit, pursued by a bear.

He that wants money, means, and content is without three good friends.

The worm is not to be trusted.