As he was valiant, I honour him. But as he was ambitious, I slew him.

The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.

And she's fair I love.

Give to a gracious message An host of tongues, but let ill tidings tell Themselves when they be felt.

That which in mean men we entitle patience is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.

For though the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears.

And when love speaks, the voice of all the gods makes Heaven drowsy with the harmony.