Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity.

For naught so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give.

[Thine] face is not worth sunburning.

Things may serve long, but not serve ever.

O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last, And careful hours with Time's deformed hand Have written strange defeatures in my face. But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?

Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

If we are true to ourselves, we can not be false to anyone.