I do I know not what, and fear to find Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. Fate, show thy force. Ourselves we do not owe. What is decreed must be; and be this so.
Have more than you show, Speak less than you know.
thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce.
For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart.
Grief makes one hour ten.
The bird that hath been limed in a bush, with trembling wings misdoubteth every bush.