Unnatural deeds do breed unnatural troubles.

Blest are those Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled, That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please.

My joy is death- Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard, Because I wish'd this world's eternity.

Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness, serious vanity, Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms, Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health, Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this.

I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching.

If money go before, all ways do lie open.

How poor are they that have have not patients.