Absence doth sharpen love, presence strengthens it; the one brings fuel, the other blows it till it burns clear.

However wickedness outstrips men, it has no wings to fly from God.

O no, thy love though much, is not so great, It is my love that keeps mine eye awake, Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat, To play the watchman ever for thy sake. For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere, From me far off, with others all too near.

Keep time! How sour sweet music is when time is broke and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of men's lives. I wasted time and now doth time waste me.

We cannot conceive of matter being formed of nothing, since things require a seed to start from... Therefore there is not anything which returns to nothing, but all things return dissolved into their elements.

Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer, whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow

...an old man is twice a child.