Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

And oftentimes excusing of a fault doth make the fault the worse by the excuse.

Good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.

We, ignorant of ourselves, Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers Deny us for our good; so find we profit By losing of our prayers.

What, man, defy the devil. Consider, he's an enemy to mankind.

Some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltness of time.