All the world's a stage, and all the men and women mearly players.

While thou livest keep a good tongue in thy head.

Oh, how this spring of love resembleth, The uncertain glory of an April day, Which now shows all beauty of the Sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away

Things in motion sooner catch the eye than what not stirs.

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun

For precious friends hid in death's dateless night.

Come not between the dragon and his wrath.