I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom.

Never durst poet touch a pen to write Until his ink were temper'd with Love's sighs.

A nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them.

There live not three good men unhanged in England; and one of them is fat and grows old.

I have no other but a woman's reason: I think him so, because I think him so.

Having nothing, nothing can he lose.

Be to yourself as you would to your friend.