That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no discourse to your beauty.

A high hope for a low heaven: God grant us patience!

For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood: I only speak right on; I tell you that which you yourselves do know.

There's place and means for every man alive.

The weariest and most loathed worldly life, that age, ache, penury and imprisonment can lay on nature is a paradise, to what we fear of death.

Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't.

Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens to the which our wills are gardeners.