a young woman in love always looks like patience on a monument smiling at grief

The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept.

I hold it cowardice To rest mistrustful where a noble heart Hath pawned an open hand in sign of love.

Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine.

My father names me Autolycus, who being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles.

My crown is in my heart, not on my head; not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, nor to be seen: my crown is called content, a crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.

The tempter or the tempted, who sins most? Ha! Not she: nor doth she tempt: but it is I That, lying by the violet in the sun, Do as the carrion does, not as the flower, Corrupt with virtuous season.