Your cause of sorrow must not be measured by his worth, for then it hath no end.
He that is thy friend indeed, he will help you in your need.
Eternity was in our lips and eyes.
Honour travels in a strait so narrow Where one but goes abreast.
Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered by a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marle?
The most peerless piece of earth, I think, that e' er the sun shone bright on.