Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a grammar school.

Mine eyes Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart, That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious To have mistrusted her.

To you your father should be as a god.

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

Vice repeated is like the wandering wind, blows dust in others' eyes to spread itself.

... the spring, the summer, The chilling autumn, angry winter, change Their wonted liveries; and the mazed world By their increase, now knows not which is which.

Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.