The man that hath no music in himself

Stars hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desires: The eyes wink at the hand; yet let that be which the eye fears, when it is done, to see

But the strong base and building of my love is as the very centre of the earth, drawing all things to it.

The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree.

Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears.

Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.

She's good, being gone.