You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face.

Where the bee sucks, there suck I In the cow-slip's bell i lie There I couch when owls do cry

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

it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance

I had rather be a kitten and cry mew Than one of these same metre ballet-mongers.

He that is truly dedicated to war hath no self-love

Thyself shall see the act; For, as thou urgest justice, be assured Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st.