Show me a mistress that is passing fair, what doth her beauty serve but as a note where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?

He hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink; his intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts. (Shakespeare, Love's Labor's Lost, IV)

The venom clamours of a jealous woman poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.

Would I were in an alehouse in London.

O Lord that lends me life, Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!

Love yourself; and in that love not unconsidered leave your honor.

Silence is the perfect herald of joy.