To an incompetent judge I must not lie, but I may be silent; to a competent I must answer.
As virtuous men pass mildly away, and whisper to their souls to go, whilst some of their sad friends do say, the breath goes now, and some say no.
I find no abhorring in my appetite.
Whoever loves, if he do not propose The right true end of love, he's one that goes To sea for nothing but to make him sick.
Filled with her love, may I be rather grown Mad with much heart, than idiot with none.
How many times go we to comedies, to masques, to places of great and noble resort, nay even to church only to see the company.
My love though silly is more brave.
At most, the greatest persons are but great wens, and excrescences; men of wit and delightful conversation, but as morals for ornament, except they be so incorporated into the body of the world that they contribute something to the sustentation of the whole.
We can die by it, if not live by love, And if unfit for tombs and hearse Our legend be, it will be fit for verse; And if no peace of chronicle we prove, We'll build in sonnet pretty rooms; As well a well wrought urne becomes The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs.
Our faults are not seen, But past us; neither felt, but only in The punishment.
Old grandsires talk of yesterday with sorrow, And for our children we reserve tomorrow.
I neglect God and his angles for the noise of a fly, for the rattling of a coach, for the whining of a door.
Though truth and falsehood be Near twins, yet truth a little elder is.
Affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it. No man hath affliction enough that is not matured and ripened by it and made fit for God.
But think that we Are but turned aside to sleep.
In best understandings, sin began, Angels sinned first, then Devils, and then Man.
True and false fears let us refrain, Let us love nobly, and live, and add again Years and years unto years, till we attain To write threescore ; this is the second of our reign.
And swear No where Lives a woman true, and fair.
There is no health; physicians say that we, at best, enjoy but neutrality.
The difference between the reason of man and the instinct of the beast is this, that the beast does but know, but the man knows that he knows.
I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I Did, till we loved? were we not weaned till then? But sucked on country pleasures, childishly? Or snorted we in the seven sleepers' den?
A mathematical point is the most indivisble and unique thing which art can present.
We are all conceived in close prison; in our mothers wombs, we are close prisoners all; when we are born, we are born but to the liberty of the house; prisoners still, though within larger walls; and then all our life is but a going out to the place of execution, to death.
Whilst my physicians by their love are grown Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie Flat on this bed.
The heavens rejoice in motion, why should I Abjure my so much loved variety.
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