Patience is sottish, and impatience does become a dog that's mad.

If they love they know not why, they hate upon no better ground, they hate upon no better a ground

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof little more than a little is by much too much.

Many strokes, though with a little axe, hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.

But I am constant as the Northern Star, Of whose true fixed and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament.

There's daggers in men's smiles.