I had rather be a toad, and live upon the vapor of a dungeon than keep a corner in the thing I love for others uses.

I, measuring his affections by my own, Which then most sought where most might not be found, Being one too many by my weary self, Pursued my humor not pursuing his, And gladly shunned who gladly fled from me.

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.

Are you sure/That we are awake? It seems to me/That yet we sleep, we dream

Talking isn't doing. It is a kind of good deed to say well; and yet words are not deeds.

And where the offense is, let the great axe fall.

Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger, Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart; Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.