Wise men ne'er sit and wail their woes, but presently prevent the ways to wail.

All surfeit is the father of much fast.

...too much sadness hath congealed your blood,And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.

'Tis brief, my lord...as woman's love.

Let never day nor night unhallowed pass, but still remember what the Lord hath done.

Look, what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east! Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day stands tip-toe on the misty mountain-tops.

We must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures.