For man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion.

Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit, Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, The folded meaning of your words' deceit.

Oft expectation fails, and most oft there where most it promises; and oft it hits where hope is coldest, and despair most fits.

They do not love that do not show their love. The course of true love never did run smooth. Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love.

We bring forth weeds when our quick minds lie still.

My brain more busy than the labouring spider Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.

It is the purpose that makes strong the vow; But vows to every purpose must not hold.