And oftentimes excusing of a fault Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse, As patches set upon a little breach, Discredit more in hiding of the fault Than did the fault before it was so patch'd.
Parting is such sweet sorrow
The wounds invisible that Love's keen arrows make.
For trust not him that hath once broken faith
The eye sees all, but the mind shows us what we want to see.
The instruments of darkness tell us truths.