O Lord that lends me life,Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness.
But love is blind and lovers cannot see The pretty follies that themselves commit; For if they could, Cupid himself would blush To see me thus transformed to a boy.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
Be not afraid of greatness
The end crowns all, And that old common arbitrator, Time, Will one day end it.
Come not within the measure of my wrath.
O, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day!
Merrily, merrily shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.
What seest thou elseIn the dark backward and abysm of time?
My library Was dukedom large enough.
That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet
Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing.
We know what we are, but know not what we may be.
Cursed be he that moves my bones.
If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.
Every man has his fault, and honesty is his.
That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man,If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.
Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.
A kind Of excellent dumb discourse.
A very ancient and fish-like smell.
The fringed curtains of thine eye advance.
Like one Who having into truth, by telling of it, Made such a sinner of his memory, To credit his own lie.