More matter with less art.

Be advised; Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot That it do singe yourself: we may outrun, By violent swiftness, that which we run at, And lose by over-running. Know you not, The fire that mounts the liquor til run o'er, In seeming to augment it wastes it?

One half of me is yours, the other half is yours, Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, And so all yours.

When he is best, he is a little worse than a man; and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast.

These violent delights have violent ends And in their triump die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume

There was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass.

My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent.