To be slow in words is a woman's only virtue.

Being daily swallowed by men's eyes, They surfeited with honey and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. So, when he had occasion to be seen, He was but as the cuckoo is in June. Heard, not regarded.

For naught so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give.

Scorn, at first, makes after-love the more.

I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.

Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents.

I have lived long enough. My way of life is to fall into the sere, the yellow leaf, and that which should accompany old age, as honor, love, obedience, troops of friends I must not look to have.