How use doth breed a habit in a man.

Fear and niceness, the handmaids of all women, or more truly, woman its pretty self.

Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, but gold that's put to use more gold begets.

In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. -Sonnet 73

Yet this my comfort: when your words are done, My woes end likewise with the evening sun.

My falcon now is sharp and passing empty, and till she stoop she must not be full-gorged, for then she never looks upon her lure.

There is a kind of character in thy life, That to the observer doth thy history, fully unfold.