Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace.
Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much.
Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, That I may see my shadow as I pass.
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin as self-neglecting.
See, see what showers arise, Blown with the windy tempest of my heart.
See that you come not to woo honour, but to wed it.
Season your admiration for awhile.
Rumour is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures And of so easy and so plain a stop That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, The still-discordant wavering multitude, Can play upon it.
Rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, which gives men stomach to digest his words with better appetite.
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial.
Reputation is an idle and most false imposition: oft got without merit, and lost without deserving.
