Journeys end in lovers meeting.
Who is it can read a woman?
Memory, the warder of the brain.
By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we owe God a death and let it go which way it will he that dies this year is quit for the next
Cease thy counsel, for thy words fall into my ears as priceless as water into a seive.
Let's meet as little as we can