When I have plucked the rose, I cannot give it vital growth again, It needs must wither. I'll smell it on the tree.

I am never merry when I hear sweet music.

A lover goes toward his beloved as enthusiastically as a schoolboy leaving his books, but when he leaves his girlfriend, he feels as miserable as the schoolboy on his way to school. (Act 2, scene 2)

To be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour.

A light wife doth make a heavy husband.

Being daily swallowed by men's eyes, They surfeited with honey and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. So, when he had occasion to be seen, He was but as the cuckoo is in June. Heard, not regarded.

Me, poor man, my library Was dukedom large enough.