But no perfection is so absolute, That some impurity doth not pollute.
To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof little more than a little is by much too much.
Sweet recreation barred, what doth ensue but moody and dull melancholy, kinsman to grim and comfortless despair.
Greatness, once fallen out with fortune, must fall out with men too.
Knit your hearts with an unslipping knot.
Great griefs medicine the less.