She never told her love, but let concealment, like a worm 'i th' bud, feed on her damask cheek. She pinned in thought; and, with a green and yellow melancholy, she sat like Patience on a monument, smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed? We men may say more, swear more; but indeed our shows are more than will; for we still prove much in our vows but little in our love.

Faith, there hath been many great men that have flattered the people who ne'er loved them.

The poorest service is repaid with thanks.

Brevity is the soul of wit.

He that sleeps feels not the tooth-ache

Love does not see with the eyes, but with the soul.

Life is as tedious as twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.