Death is my son-in-law. Death is my heir. My daughter he hath wedded. I will die, And leave him all. Life, living, all is Death’s.

I have no other but a woman's reason: I think him so, because I think him so.

See what a ready tongue suspicion hath!

The empty vessel makes the loudest sound.

We do pray for mercy, and that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy.

If I could write the beauty of your eyes And in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say, 'This poet lies; Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'

He wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat.