Delay leads impotent and snail-paced beggary.

Boldness be my friend.

Her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love

One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.

My age is as a lusty winter, frosty but kindly.

Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love! Oh, that she knew she were!