In religion, What damned error but some sober brow Will bless it, and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?

Why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules, but beware instinct. The lion will not touch the true prince. Instinct is a great matter. I was a coward on instinct.

Come, Lady, die to live.

Our wills and fates do so contrary run, That our devices still are overthrown; Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.

Affection, mistress of passion, sways it to the mood of what it likes or loathes.

Love that well which thou must leave ere long.

So wise so young, they say, do never live long.