Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better.
Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.
If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.
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.
O, spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou!
That strain again! It had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more: 'Tis not so sweet as it was before.
Make me a willow cabin at your gate, And call upon my soul within the house; Write loyal cantons of contemned love And sing them loud even in the dead of night.
Present mirth hath present laughter. What's to come is still unsure.
I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride, Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide. Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause But rather reason thus with reason fetter, Love sought is good, but given unsought better.
Come away, come away, Death, And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath, I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white stuck all with yew, O prepare it! My part of death no one so true did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strewn: Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown. A thousand thousand sighs to save, lay me O where Sad true lover never find my grave, to weep there!
Let still woman take An elder than herself: so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart, For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner to be lost and warn, Than women's are.
I am indeed not her fool, but her corrupter of words. (Act III, sc. I, 37-38)
Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent.
Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief
All's well that ends well.
If music be the food of love, play on.
Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage.
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty.
So full of shapes is fancy That it alone is high fantastical.
Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some hire public relations officers.
All is well that ends well
I have unclasp'd to thee the book even of my secret soul.
Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?
Enough no more; Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure.
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