When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand.
Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks
There is a time in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.
Downy sleep, death's counterfeit.
Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, but graciously to know I am no better.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, to love that well which thou must leave ere long