Now the melancholy God protect thee, and the tailor make thy garments of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is opal.
Cowards die many times; a brave man dies but once.
She moves me not, or not removes at least affection's edge in me.
The fewer men, the greater share of honor.
He's loved of the distracted multitude, who like not in their judgement, but their eyes.
Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth. O these deliberate fools!