The man that hath no music in himself

What I have done is yours; what I have to do is yours; being part in all I have, devoted yours.

But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts; whereof I take this that you call love to bea sect or scion.... It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will.

Patch up thine old body for heaven.

O, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, not knowing what they do.

Many that are not mad have, sure, more lack of reason.

O, let him pass. He hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer.