Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain: Lest sorrow lend me words and words express, The manner of my pity-wanting pain.

A great cause of the night is lack of the sun.

Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.

The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.

The good I stand on is my truth and honesty.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Modest doubt is called the beacon of the wise.