No, I will be the pattern of all patience; I will say nothing.
No legacy is so rich as honesty.
News fitting to the night, Black, fearful, comfortless and horrible.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be; For loan oft loses both itself and friend.
Nay, but make haste; the better foot before.
Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time.
My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
My thoughts are whirled like a potter’s wheel.
My soul is in the sky.
My salad days, When I was green in judgment.
My pride fell with my fortunes.
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
