The fool multitude, that choose by show, not learning more than the fond eye doth teach.

I do begin to have bloody thoughts.

Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.

I have full cause of weeping, but this heart shall break into a hundred thousand flaws or ere I'll weep.

You have too much respect upon the world; They lose it that do buy it with much care

O, how full of briers is this working-day world!

There are occasions and causes, why and wherefore in all things.