Better were it to be unborn than ill-bred

If all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy Love.But fading flowers in every field, To winter floods their treasures yield; A honey'd tongue, …

So when thou hast, as I Commanded thee, done blabbing — Although to give the lie Deserves no less than stabbing — Stab at thee he that will, No stab the soul can kill.

Every fool knoweth that hatreds are the cinders of affection.

No man is wise or safe, but he that is honest.

Go, Soul, the body’s guest, Upon a thankless arrant: Fear not to touch the best; The truth shall be thy warrant: Go, since I needs must die, And give the world the lie.Say to the court, it glows.

[History] hath triumphed over time, which besides it nothing but eternity hath triumphed over.