Be not too tame neither, but let your own Discretion be your tutor; suit the action to the word, the word to the action.

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

I am in blood Stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er.

Time, whose millioned accidents creep in betwixt vows, and change decrees of kings, tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharpest intents, divert strong minds to the course of altering things.

Rumor is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures.

Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.

Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.