The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.

Those that much covet are with gain so fond, For what they have not, that which they possess They scatter and unloose it from their bond, And so, by hoping more, they have but less; Or, gaining more, the profit of excess Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain, That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.

I go, I go, look how I go, swifter than an arrow from a bow

Give thy thoughts no tongue.

Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth.

What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, to love that well which thou must leave ere long