Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain, Which, with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain.

Love's stories written in love's richest books. To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.

Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty; for in my youth I never did apply hot and rebellious liquors in my blood; and did not, with unbashful forehead, woo the means of weakness and debility: therefore my age is as a lusty winter, frosty but kindly.

Sometimes when we are labeled, when we are branded our brand becomes our calling.

Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own

There is nothing so confining as the prisons of our own perceptions.

Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to Heaven.