I, measuring his affections by my own, Which then most sought where most might not be found, Being one too many by my weary self, Pursued my humor not pursuing his, And gladly shunned who gladly fled from me.
Have more than you show, Speak less than you know.
He that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry the grinding.
How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping?
'Tis pride that pulls the country down.
Men prize the thing ungained more than it is.