Life is as tedious as twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.
We go to gain a little patch of ground that hath in it no profit but the name.
The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness, And in the taste confounds the appetite: Therefore love moderately— long love doth so.
Wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man regards it.
Though Death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.
I’ll look to like, if looking liking move; But no more deep will I endart mine eye than your consent gives strength to make it fly.