O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, / That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!

To be direct and honest is not safe.

I have no other but a woman's reason: I think him so, because I think him so.

Men shut their doors against a setting sun.

O Mistress mine, where are you roaming? O, stay and hear; your true love's coming, That can sing both high and low: Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know. What is love? 'Tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies not plenty; Then, come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure.

At this hour Lie at my mercy all mine enemies.

Although the last, not least.