Thou mak'st me merry: I am full of pleasure; let us be jocund

O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, that he hath turn'd a heaven unto hell

My crown is in my heart, not on my head; not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, nor to be seen: my crown is called content, a crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.

Let the sap of reason quench the fire of passion.

I'll say she looks as clear as morning roses newly washed with dew.

Many strokes, though with a little axe, hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.

And he goes through life, his mouth open, and his mind closed.