Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak'd meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.

Absence doth sharpen love, presence strengthens it; the one brings fuel, the other blows it till it burns clear.

Manhood is melted into courtesies, valor into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones, too.

There is a river in Macedon, and there is moreover a river in Monmouth. It is called Wye at Monmouth, but it is out of my prains what is the name of the other river; but 'tis all one, 'tis alike as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in both.

in black ink my love may still shine bright.

The leopard does not change his spots.

O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From the world-wearied flesh