This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their particular additions: he is as valiant as a lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant-a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours that his valour is crush'd into folly, his folly sauced with discretion.
Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again.
The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely what wise men do foolishly.
Truth needs no color; beauty, no pencil.
Praising what is lost makes the remembrance dear
Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain: Lest sorrow lend me words and words express, The manner of my pity-wanting pain.