“Return of love, more blest may be the view;As call it winter, which being full of care,Makes summer’s welcome thrice more wish’d, more rare.Sonet56”

“This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong:To love that well which thou must leave ere long.”

“I thrice presented him a kingly crown. Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?”

“Who taught thee how to make me love thee more?”

“Danger knows full well that Caesar is more dangerous than he. We are two lions litter’d in one day, and I the elder and more terrible.”

“Why, such is love's transgression.Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prestWith more of thine: this love that thou hast shownDoth add more grief to too much of mine own.Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:What is it else? a madness most discreet,A choking gall and a preserving sweet.Farewell, my coz.”

“She never told her love, but let concealment, like a worm 'i th' bud, feed on her damask cheek. She pinned in thought; and, with a green and yellow melancholy, she sat like Patience on a monument, smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed? We men may say more, swear more; but indeed our shows are more than will; for we still prove much in our vows but little in our love.”