The weariest and most loathed worldly life, that age, ache, penury and imprisonment can lay on nature is a paradise, to what we fear of death.

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.

Hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig.

Ask me no reason why I love you; for though Love use Reason for his physician, he admits him not for his counsellor.

He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf.

They whose guilt within their bosom lies, imagine every eye beholds their blame.

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.