All's well if all ends well.

Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembered!

Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.

There is flattery in friendship.

Things are often spoke and seldom meant.

True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air, And more inconstant than the wind, who woos Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his side to the dew-dropping south.

Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noontide night.