Men should be what they seem; Or those that be not, would they might seem none!.

I have seen better faces in my time Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant.

As good luck would have it.

And blind oblivion swallowed cities up.

In sweet music is such art: killing care and grief of heart fall asleep, or hearing, die.

What a deformed thief this fashion is.

These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite. Therefore love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.