“Each substance of grief hath twenty shadows, which shows like grief itself, but is not so; or sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, divides one thing entire to many objects: like perspectives which, rightly gaz'd upon, show nothing but confusion:”
“Lips, let sour words go by and language end:What is amiss plague and infection mend!Graves only be men's works and death their gain!Sun, hide thy beams! Timon hath done his reign.”
“Prophet may you be!If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth,when time is old and hath forgot itself,when waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy,and blind oblivion swallowed cities up,and mighty states characterless are gratedto dusty nothing, yet let memory,from false to false, among false maids in love,upbraid my falsehood!”
“A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm”
“Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.”
“O, let us pay the time but needful woe,Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.This England never did, nor never shall,Lie at the proud foot of a conquerorBut when it first did help to wound itself.Now these her princes are come home again,Come the three corners of the world in arms,And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rueIf England to itself do rest but true.”