Men are April when they woo, December when they wed.

There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee.

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men.

Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! *It’s sad. Love looks like a nice thing, but it’s actually very rough when you experience it.*

In sooth I know not why I am so sad. It wearies me, you say it wearies you; But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn.

Is not the truth the truth?