Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever,- One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never.

Cupid is a knavish lad, Thus to make poor females mad.

Things base and vile, holding no quantity, love can transpose to form and dignity

There is no sure foundation set on blood, No certain life achieved by others' death.

I am not mad; I would to heaven I were! For then, 'tis like I should forget myself; O, if I could, what grief should I forget!

The apparel oft proclaims the man.

Friendship is constant in all other things, save in the office and affairs of love.