Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.

Parting is such sweet sorrow

Grief best is pleased with grief's society.

Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel; For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.

When love begins to sicken and decay it uses an enforced ceremony.

Oh! that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves.

As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown.