I do know of these That therefore only are reputed wise For saying nothing.
Who can control his fate?
Examine well your blood.
O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, / That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving.
Some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltness of time.