The teeming Autumn big with rich increase, bearing the wanton burden of the prime like widowed wombs after their lords decease.

I have a bone to pick with Fate

This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottage princes' palaces.

Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy.

Sin, that amends, is but patched with virtue.

Blessed are the peacemakers on earth.