“And who understands? Not me, because if I did I would forgive it all.”

“I am two fools, I know, For loving, and for saying so In whining poetry;But where's that wiseman, that would not be I, If she would not deny?Then as th' earth's inward narrow crooked lanes Do purge sea water's fretful salt away,I thought, if I could draw my pains Through rhyme's vexation, I should them allay.Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce,For he tames it, that fetters it in verse. But when I have done so, Some man, his art and voice to show, Doth set and sing my pain;And, by delighting many, frees again Grief, which verse did restrain.To love and grief tribute of verse belongs, But not of such as pleases when 'tis read.Both are increased by such songs, For both their triumphs so are published,And I, which was two fools, do so grow three;Who are a little wise, the best fools be.”

“I did best when I had least truth for my subjects.”

“Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee.”

“If ever any beauty I did see,Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.”

“Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for youAs yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bendYour force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,Take me to you, imprison me, for I,Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.”

“SongGo, and catch a falling star,Get with child a mandrake root,Tell me, where all past years are,Or who cleft the Devil’s foot,Teach me to hear mermaids singing,Or to keep off envy’s stinging,And findWhat windServes to advance an honest mind.If thou be’est born to strange sights,Things invisible to see,Ride ten thousand days and nights,Till age snow white hairs on thee,Thou, when thou return’st, wilt tell meAll strange wonders that befell thee,And swearNowhereLives a woman true, and fair.If thou find’st one, let me know,Such a pilgrimage were sweet,Yet do not, I would not go,Though at next door we might meet,Though she were true when you met her,And last, till you write your letter,Yet sheWill beFalse, ere I come, to two, or three.”