He that is giddy thinks the world turns round.

we are the lords of all eternity

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

When Death doth close his tender dying eyes.

Jesters do oft prove prophets.

Prophet may you be! If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth, when time is old and hath forgot itself, when waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy, and blind oblivion swallowed cities up, and mighty states characterless are grated to dusty nothing, yet let memory, from false to false, among false maids in love, upbraid my falsehood!

What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her?