“For goodness, growing to a plurisy,Dies in his own too much: that we would doWe should do when we would; for this 'would' changesAnd hath abatements and delays as manyAs there are tongues,”

“I know love is begun by time,And that I see, in passages of proof,Time qualifies the spark and fire of it.There lives within the very flame of loveA kind of wick or snuff that will abate it.And nothing is at a like goodness still.For goodness, growing to a pleurisy,Dies in his own too-much. That we would do,We should do when we would, for this “would” changesAnd hath abatements and delays as manyAs there are tongues, are hands, are accidents.And then this “should” is like a spendthrift sighThat hurts by easing.”

“That man that hath a tongue, I say is no man, if with his tongue he cannot win a woman.”

“I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good.”

“When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.”

“The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was.”

“As an unperfect actor on the stage, Who with his fear is put besides his part,Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart; So I, for fear of trust, forget to say The perfect ceremony of love's rite, And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,O'ercharg'd with burden of mine own love's might. O, let my books be then the eloquenceAnd dumb presagers of my speaking breast;Who plead for love, and look for recompense,More than that tongue that more hath more express'd.O, learn to read what silent love hath writ:To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.”