Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once; And He that might the vantage best have took, Found out the remedy.
Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?
Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?
Wherever sorrow is, relief would be. If you do sorrow at my grief in love, By giving love your sorrow and my grief Were both extermined.
Where every something, being blent together, turns to a wild of nothing.
Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity—So it be new, there’s no respect how vile—That is not quickly buzzed into his ears?
When we mean to build, We first survey the plot, then draw the model; And when we see the figure of the house, Then must we rate the cost of the erection.
When I was at home I was in a better place, but travellers must be content.
When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night, And pay no worship to the garish sun.
What’s past is prologue.
What’s in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet.
What’s done cannot be undone.