Time's glory is to calm contending kings

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

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

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

What cannot be eschewed must be embraced

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

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