Knowing I Lov'd My Books,

O Teach Me How I Should Forget To Think (1.1.224)

Women Are Angels, Wooing: Things Won Are Done; Joy's Soul Lies In The Doing: That She Beloved Knows Naught, That Knows Not This-- Men Prize The Thing Ungained More Than It Is.

Fair Ladies, Masked, Are Roses In Their Bud; Dismasked, The Damask Sweet Commixture Shown, Are Angels Vailing Clouds, Or Roses Blown.

The Nature Of Bad News Affects The Teller.

You Cannot Make Gross Sins Look Clear: To Revenge Is No Valour, But To Bear.