The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.

Every man has his fault, and honesty is his.

...too much sadness hath congealed your blood,And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.

To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.

Too much to know is to know naught but fame.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall with our English dead.

One sin another doth provoke.