There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee.
I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come" (Phebe)
O' thinkest thou we shall ever meet again? I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our times to come.
Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast, yet love breaks through and picks them all at last.
Misery makes sport to mock itself.
Thou weigh'st thy words before thou givest them breath.