Beauty itself doth of itself persuade

That deep torture may be called a hell, When more is felt than one hath power to tell.

On a day — alack the day! — Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair Playing in the wanton air

Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments.

Time's glory is to calm contending kings, To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light.

What cannot be eschewed must be embraced

Crabbed age and youth cannot live together: Youth is full of pleasure, age is full of care