An overflow of good converts to bad.

Oh, injurious love, that respites me a life, whose very comfort is still a dying horror

There is none of my uncle's marks upon you; he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.

Time travels at different speeds for different people. I can tell you who time strolls for, who it trots for, who it gallops for, and who it stops cold for.

For a noble heart, the most precious gift becomes poor, when the giver stops loving.

Things in motion sooner catch the eye than what not stirs.

I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools.