If she lives till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole world.

That which is now a horse, even with a thought The rack dislimms, and makes it indistinct As water is in water

Every fair from fair sometime declines

How art thou out of breath when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath?

It easeth some, though none it ever cured, to think their dolour others have endured.

Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies; Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies

Well, God's above all; and there be souls must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved.