Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.
All that glisters is not gold; Often have you heard that told: Many a man his life hath sold But my outside to behold: Gilded tombs do worms enfold.
The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger.
The gloomy shade of death.
Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere.
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.