She speaks poniards, and every word stabs.
Making night hideous.
...an old man is twice a child.
Nothing 'gainst Times scythe can make defence.
Tis a blushing shame-faced spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom. It fills a man full of obstacles. It made me once restore a purse of gold that (by chance) I found. It beggars any man that keeps it.
How much more doth beauty beauteous seem by that sweet ornament which truth doth give!