The breaking of so great a thing should make A greater crack: the round world Should have shook lions into civil streets, And citizens to their dens.

We may outrun By violent swiftness And lose by over-running.

This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, Which gives men stomach to digest his words With better appetite.

A very little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience.

Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might. Whoever lov'd that lov'd not at first sight.

Our wills and fates do so contrary run, That our devices still are overthrown; Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.

Then happy I that love and am beloved, where I may not remove nor be removed.