Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell. Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet Grace must still look so.
Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all!
I would give all of my fame for a pot of ale and safety.
To do a great right do a little wrong.
Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.
There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune.