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Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime rot and consume themselves in little time.

Lord, what fools these mortals be.

The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light; . . .

This is the excellent foppery of the world, that when we are sick in fortune, often the surfeits of our own behavior, we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and stars; as if we were villains on necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers by spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers by an enforced obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on. An admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish disposition on the charge of a star.

What if this cursed hand Where thicker than itself with brother's blood, Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens To wash it white as snow?

I pardon him as God shall pardon me.

But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth; His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles, His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate, His tears pure messengers sent from his heart, His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.

Friendship is constant in all other things Save in the office and affairs of love.

Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain all The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd, And is enough for both.

This casket threatens; men that hazard all Do it in hope of fair advantages. A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross; I'll then nor give nor hazard aught for lead.

No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en. In brief, sir, study what you most effect.

When they him spy, As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye, Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort, Rising and cawing at the gun's report, Sever themselves and madly sweep the sky; So at his sight away his fellows fly, And at our stamp here o'er and o'er one falls; He murder cries and help from Athens calls.

What is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.

Give every man your ear, but few thy voice. Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.

Glory is like a circle in the water, Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself Till by broad spreading it disperse to naught.

Like madness is the glory of this life As this pomp shows to a little oil and root.

The glowworm shows the matin to be near And gins to pale his uneffectual fire.

I see, the jewel best enamelled Will lose his beauty; yet the gold bides still That others touch, and often touching will Wear gold; and no man that hath a name, By falsehood and corruption doth it shame.

How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish overcareful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care. Their bones with industry. For this they have engrossed and piled up The cankered heaps of strange-achieved gold; For this they have been thoughtful to invest Their sons with arts and martial exercises.

Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me, Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold; For I have bought it with an hundred blows.