You may my Glories and my State depose, But not my Griefes; still am I King of those.

World, world, O world! But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee/ Life would not yield to age.

Cease to lament for that thou canst not help; and study help for that which thou lamentest.

Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more.

Pray you now, forget and forgive.

Love's stories written in love's richest books. To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.

How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?