When words are scarce they are seldom spent in vain.

Show me a mistress that is passing fair, what doth her beauty serve but as a note where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?

Some men there are love not a gaping pig, some that are mad if they behold a cat, and others when the bagpipe sings I the nose cannot contain their urine.

As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown.

I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.

Every man has a bag hanging before him, in which he puts his neighbour's faults, and another behind him in which he stows his own.

where civil blood makes civil hands unclean