There is a tide in the affairs of men

I am sure care's an enemy to life.

Men from children nothing differ.

One half of me is yours, the other half is yours, Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, And so all yours.

Have I thought long to see this morning’s face, And doth it give me such a sight as this?

Let me confess that we two must be twain, although our undivided loves are one.

Great griefs medicine the less.