Let me not to the marriage of true minds

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

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

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

Beauty itself doth of itself persuade The eyes of men without an orator.

What cannot be eschewed must be embraced

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