But whate'er I am, nor I nor any man that but man is, With nothing shall be pleased 'til he be eased With being nothing.

'By heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible true, that thou art beauteous truth itself, that thou art lovely. More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal.

He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.

No worse a husband than the best of men.

I am not of that feather, to shake off my friend when he must need me

Don't waste your love on somebody, who doesn't value it.

So well thy words become thee as thy wounds.