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.
William ShakespeareIf you can look into the seeds of time, and say which grain will grow and which will not, speak then unto me.
William ShakespeareFools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings, the husband's the bigger.
William Shakespeare