Omittance is no quittance.
The expedition of my violent love outrun the pauser, reason.
It’s easy for someone to joke about scars if they’ve never been cut.
And too soon Marred are those so early Made.
What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. Sure he that made us with such large discourse, looking before and after, gave us not that capability and god-like reason to fust in us unused.
Passion lends them power, time means to meet, tempering extremities with extremes sweet.
Let him smell his way to Dover!
You are an alchemist; make gold of that.
Where souls do couch on flowers we’ll hand in hand...
I have supped full with horrors.
I go, I go, look how I go, swifter than an arrow from a bow.
Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines everywhere.
A happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story.
Golden lads and girls all must as chimney sweepers come to dust.
This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, it is a chance which does redeem all sorrows that ever I have felt.
There is a world elsewhere.
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty.
The poorest service is repaid with thanks.
Thou art a boil, a plague sore, an embossed carbuncle in my corrupted blood.
Tempt not a desperate man.