Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing.
Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity.
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray's In deepest consequence
Venus smiles not in a house of tears.
I am indeed not her fool, but her corrupter of words. (Act III, sc. I, 37-38)
My stars shine darkly over me