A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool.
Ay, is it not a language I speak?
Plenty and peace breed cowards; hardness ever of hardiness is mother.
To some kind of men their graces serve them but as enemies.
love is blind and lovers cannot see the pretty follies that themselves commit
O love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy, In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess!